108E 


/ 


The 
GOLDEN  ANSWER 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW   YORK  •  BOSTON  •  CHICAGO 
ATLANTA  •  SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO,,  LOOTED 

LONDON  •  BOMBAY  •  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


The 
GOLDEN  ANSWER 


BY 

SYLVIA  CHATFIELD  BATES 

AUTHOR  OF 

"THE  GERANIUM  LADY,"  "ELMIRA  COLLEGE  STORIES," 
"THE  VINTAGE,"  ETC. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

IQ2I 

All  right*  reserved 


We  were  at  sea  with  all  our  heart's  desire: 
Beauty  and  friendship  and  the  dream  fulfilled, 
The  golden  answer  to  the  deeply  willed, 
The  purely  longed  for,  hardly  tried  for  thing. 

MASEFTELD 


The 
GOLDEN  ANSWER 


CHAPTER  I 

AMOS  FORTUNE'S  small  white  house  stood  at  the 
head  of  a  lane  that  dawdled  downward  between  un- 
kept  hedges,  and,  having  begun  opposite  a  brick  colonial 
mansion  on  the  wide  street  from  which  the  lane 
branched,  ended  with  abrupt  chagrin  at  the  foot  of  the 
slope  with  a  grocery  store  and  a  saloon.  Just  as  the 
lane  could  be  claimed  by  no  class  of  society — for  if  it 
began  in  aristocratic  respectability  it  certainly  ended 
in  smug  not  to  say  convivial  democracy — so  the  house 
was  pleasantly  nonconforming.  It  was,  for  instance, 
unself conscious  and  comfortable  about  having  gables 
in  erratic  places,  and  a  fanlight  over  a  Gothic  bay  win- 
dow, and  one  chimney  with  pots  while  ^he  other  had 
been  built  up  on  the  outside,  warm  red  against  the 
white  shingles,  and  had  no  pots  at  all;  about  having 
a  valuable  brass  knocker,  which  belonged  to  Amos  For- 
tune, on  a  door  that  was  peeling  its  paint.  For  it  is 
not  prudent  to  ask  a  landlord  to  paint  even  a  small 
white  house  and  battered  green  blinds,  when  at  the 
slightest  disturbance  of  his  delicate  immemorial  bal- 
ance he  may  exact  a  fief  of  forty-five  dollars  a  month 
instead  of  forty-two-fifty.  But  a  house  may  smile 
without  fresh  paint,  especially  if  it  has  a  honeysuckle 
vine  and  a  garden.  There  were  white  lilac  bushes 
and  hollyhocks  along  the  fence,  and  in  the  garden 
masses  of  heliotrope,  phlox,  brilliant  poppies,  and  Har- 
mony's pansies.  So,  with  a  loose  board  in  its  steps 
that  might  easily  cause  Amos  Fortune  to  break  his  leg 
on  a  dark  night,  the  house  beamed,  prim  but  winning, 


2  The    Golden   Answer 

across  the  lane  at  a  green  field  opposite.  When  one 
stood  by  the  gate  one  could  see  also,  aslant,  down  the 
chief  residence  street  of  Bramford. 

There  were  two  ways,  equal  in  distance,  by  which 
to  come  from  the  railroad  station  to  the  white  house 
in  the  lane.  Amos  Fortune,  on  his  way  back  and  forth 
from  his  work  in  the  city,  chose — almost  always — the 
one  that  took  him  from  the  patrician  end  of  the  street 
down  the  lane  to  his  front  gate,  instead  of  the  way 
that  led  past  the  low-lying  corner  with  the  grocery 
store  and  the  saloon. 

Harmony  loved  to  swing  on  this  front  gate,  which 
had  fortunately  been  painted  green  and  not  white. 
Amos  liked  it  better  green  because  it  frequently  came 
into  contact  with  Harmony's  stubby  little  shoes,  which 
had  a  habit  of  wearing  out  almost  as  often  as  the  rent 
was  due.  Not  but  that  he  enjoyed  buying  shoes  for 
Harmony,  and  also  pale  blue  chambray  dresses  and 
workable  little  play  clothes  of  stout  old-blue  stuffs  and 
greens  and  browns  and  babyish  white  things,  with  plain 
wide  hats  to  shade  her  brown  curls.  Old  Johanna,  to 
whom  he  brought  these  things  to  be  made,  and  the 
saleswomen  of  whom  he  earnestly  bought  them,  did  not 
always  approve  of  Harmony's  clothes;  but  a  famous 
artist,  who  saw  her  once  on  the  gate,  as  he  wholly  by 
accident  had  stumbled  into  the  wrong  end  of  the  lane 
and  made  haste  to  ascend,  had  asked  to  paint  her.  He 
had  done  so,  and  very  kindly  gave  the  first  sketch  to 
Amos,  who  hung  it  beside  his  desk  in  the  library  of  the 
white  house. 

One  afternoon  in  early  summer  when  the  garden 
was  sweet  with  the  last  of  the  white  lilacs  and  the  first 
of  the  roses,  Harmony  went  out  to  the  green  gate 
to  listen  for  the  five-fifty-seven.  Amos  always  came 
home  on  that  train,  and  fifteen  minutes  after  its  shrill 


The   Golden   Answer  3 

toot  he  would  come  walking  down  the  little  hill  to  the 
white  house,  unless  he  came  the  other  way;  then  he 
was  late.  Indeed,  Harmony  had  never  seen  him  come 
home  the  other  way. 

To-day  he  came  so  quickly  after  the  whistle  that  he 
must  have  walked  fast.  He  stopped  outside  the  gate 
on  which  Harmony  swung  and  lifted  her  face  to  his 
with  a  finger  under  her  chin,  while  his  other  hand  held 
the  back  of  her  head  curvingly.  That  was  a  way  he 
always  had,  patting  her  hair.  He  stood  by  the  gate 
for  a  moment  or  two  with  his  hat  off.  He  was  always 
glad  to  be  home  from  the  "South  Sea  House."  That 
was  what  he  and  Harmony  called  "the  office,"  for  a 
reason.  A  young-looking,  tall,  slight  man,  he  was, 
swift  of  motion,  and  of  a  compelling  presence.  When 
he  smiled  you  noticed  his  mouth  which,  somber  in 
repose,  changed  sensitively  and  was  certainly  the  only 
beautiful  thing  about  his  thin- featured  face.  His 
brilliant  brown  eyes  had  an  odd  way  of  seeming  to 
come  back  from  a  distance  to  things  near  at  hand.  He 
was  always  pleasant  about  it,  but  you  had  the  feel- 
ing that  you  had  interrupted — something.  So  that  it 
was  not  unusual  for  men,  as  well  as  women,  to  ask: 
"Who  is  the  person  by  the  name  of  Fortune?" 

Now  he  jumped  the  little  girl  down  from  the  gate 
and  skipped  her  along  by  his  side  up  the  front  walk  to 
the  steps,  which  he  took  at  one  leap,  thereby  ignoring 
the  broken  board.  If  he  could  jump  over  it,  it  did  not 
exist — a  pleasant  logic.  And  they  went  through  the 
bright  little  house  straight  to  the  kitchen,  itself  big  in 
an  old-fashioned  way,  where  they  found  their  tall, 
brown,  white-haired  Johanna  in  the  act  of  taking  bis- 
cuits out  of  the  oven. 

"Quick,  Harmony!"  shouted  Amos  Fortune,  rush- 
ing around  the  room.  "Shut  the  windows,  Harmony, 


4  The    Golden   Answer 

before  they  fly  out !"  Johanna  and  Harmony  were  as 
charmed  as  if  he  did  not  always  do  that  when  Johanna 
made  her  feathery  light  biscuits  for  their  supper. 

When  they  were  seated  at  the  table  with  Harmony 
in  her  blue  chambray  just  around  the  corner  from 
Amos  —  nobody  opposite  him  —  and  Johanna  had 
lighted  the  candles,  though  the  sun  still  came  through 
the  linden  trees,  and  had  left  them,  Amos  leaned 
toward  Harmony  and  she  toward  him  and  they  both 
laughed. 

"What  do  you  s'pose — "  asked  Harmony. 

"What  do  you  suppose — ?"  replied  Amos. 

"It's  a  secret." 

He  nodded  solemnly  at  the  child. 

"Yes;  will  you  have  some  more  jam?" 

"Please,  Amos."  She  called  him  that  They  ate 
in  elaborate  silence.  Amos  Fortune  always  gave  Har- 
mony all  the  fun  he  could. 

"My  secret,"  he  explained,  as  he  poured  a  glass  of 
milk  for  her  from  a  blue  jug  with  a  broken  nose,  "is  a 
surprise." 

"So  is  mine,"  flashed  Harmony,  and  being  only 
seven  she  laughed  bubblingly  into  her  milk  and  it  went 
up  her  nose  and  choked  her. 

"Now  you  see,"  said  Amos,  when  quiet  was  restored, 
"what  comes  of  keeping  secrets  from  me,"  and  smiling 
he  told  his,  with  a  touch  of  gravity. 

"I  have  seen,"  he  began,  and  swallowed  twice, 
though  he  had  finished  his  supper,  "I  have  seen  the 
Discreet  Princess!" 

"Why,"  cried  Harmony,  "that's  my  secret  too !" 

The  tall  man  from  the  South  Sea  House  and  the 
little  girl  sat  after  supper,  as  usual,  on  the  side  veranda 
of  the  white  house  in  the  lane.  Amos  Fortune  smoked 
reflectively,  his  eyes  on  the  twilight  field  opposite,  and 


The   Golden   Answer  5 

Harmony  sat  in  his  lap  until  her  bed  time.  The  details 
all  came  out — how  each  had  seen  the  person  whom 
they  chose  to  call,  in  private  only,  the  Discreet  Prin- 
cess. Amos  had  beheld  her  on  the  train  from  the  city, 
had  received,  indeed,  a  bow  and  a  faint  smile.  But 
Harmony  had  been  more  favored.  Piecing  together 
her  story  Amos  knew  what  had  happened. 

That  afternoon  Harmony  was  playing  in  the  garden 
when  someone  from  over  the  fence  in  the  lane  gave  a 
little  cough.  Leaning  on  the  fence  and  looking 
smilingly  at  the  small  girl  was  someone  dressed  appro- 
priately in  gold — and  carrying  a  green  parasol.  This 
person  had  rippling  hair  several  shades  darker  than 
her  dress;  her  eyes  were  sea-gray,  shaded  by  pretty 
dark  brows  and  lashes;  and  there  was  a  dim  rich  red 
in  her  cheeks. 

"Oh,"  said  the  person  to  Harmony,  "aren't  you  the 
little  girl  who  helped  your  father  help  me  cross  the 
lake  last  summer  when  a  thunderstorm  was  coming 
up?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Harmony,  looking  with  gloating 
admiration  at  the  gold  dress  and  hair.  "Only  he  isn't 
my  father." 

"Your  uncle,  then?" 

"No,"  said  Harmony. 

The  person  smiled.  "Perhaps  he  is  your  big 
brother?" 

Harmony  shook  her  head  and  stated  with  firmness : 
"He  is  Amos." 

"How  strange,"  the  person  said,  and  added  that 
people  were  not  just  "Amos"  ever ! 

She  had  walked  into  the  garden  and  sat  upon  one  of 
the  broken  chairs.  ("Which  one?"  asked  Amos  of 
Harmony  in  the  twilight.  "The  old  thing  without  any 
back,"  she  told  him.  The  next  evening  that  chair  was 


6  The   Golden   Answer 

brought  into  the  house  and  architecturally  restored.) 
Sitting  on  that  broken  chair  she  had  unfolded  interest- 
ing things  to  Harmony.  She  told  the  astonished  little 
girl  that  she  was  having  a  play  for  the  benefit  of  some- 
thing or  other ;  it  was  to  be  an  outdoor  play  and  was  to 
have  lords  and  ladies  and  a  fool  and  fairies  in  it.  She 
asked  Harmony  to  be  in  the  play!  To  be  sure,  Har- 
mony was  rather  fat  for  a  fairy  but  if  her  father  would 
allow  it  she  would  do.  No — how  easy  to  forget — not 
her  father,  nor  her  uncle,  nor  her  brother.  Then  she 
laughed,  showing  an  indiscreet  dimple,  and  inquired, 
while  she  twirled  her  parasol : 

"You  don't  expect  me  to  call  him  Amos,  do  you?" 
"Well,"  said  Harmony,  "I  think  it  would  be  nice." 
(Here  Harmony  was  squeezed  in  the  twilight.) 
Then  the  gold  and  gray  person — the  Discreet  Prin- 
cess in  point  of  fact — had  walked  around  the  small 
garden  and  declared  it  was  pretty,  had  accepted  a 
cluster  of  lilacs,  and  gone  away  with  the  request  that 
Harmony  should  ask  this  unrelated  man  whether  or 
not  she  could  be  a  fairy,  and  come  as  soon  as  possible 
to  the  big  house  up  the  lane,  across  the  street  on  the 
corner,  to  let  her  know. 

She  had  come  first  to  the  big  house  on  the  corner 
the  summer  Harmony  was  six,  and  visited  the  Woman 
With  Rings  On  Her  Fingers  ( — and  bells  on  her 
toes?}.  But  they  would  never  have  known  anything 
about  her  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  incident  that  gave 
her  her  name  with  them. 

It  was  the  morning  of  Memorial  Day  a  year  ago. 
Amos  had  intended  to  take  Harmony  up  the  river  in 
his  canoe.  They  were  late  in  starting  because  Johanna 
had  a  toothache  and  did  not  get  the  sandwiches  made. 
They  had  gone  down  the  lane  and  across  the  field  to 
the  makeshift  boathouse  on  the  rh  cr  where  Amos  kept 


The  Golden  Answer  7 

his  old  canoe.  And  the  canoe  was  not  there !  No  sign 
of  it  was  about.  He  had  known  the  boathouse  lock 
was  not  good ;  he  had  been  going  to  get  a  new  one  as 
soon  as  he  could  afford  it.  Almost  any  key  would 
open  the  door.  Apparently  some  key  had  opened  it, 
for  the  door  was  left  ajar  and  the  canoe  was  gone. 
Amos  was  angry  and  Harmony  disappointed.  He 
borrowed  an  old  boat  of  a  farmer,  and  they  went 
creaking  down-stream  in  search  of  the  vanished  canoe. 
Before  he  had  rowed  far  a  cloud  climbed  up  in  the  west 
and  the  wind  began  to  blow,  so  that  when  they  came  out 
onto  the  lake  into  which  the  narrow  river  emptied,  they 
found  it  roughened.  Amos  decided  to  row  across  to  an 
island  in  the  middle  of  the  lake  from  which,  if  they 
walked  about,  they  could  see  the  entire  shore  surround- 
ing the  lake.  When  they  came  near  the  island  he 
rowed  parallel  with  it  in  search  of  a  good  landing. 
Rounding  a  curve  they  suddenly  came  upon  someone 
in  a  yellow  linen  dress  sitting  on  the  bank  scanning  the 
lake.  As  soon  as  she  saw  them  she  beckoned  them  to 
her,  and  stood  watching  while  they  made  a  clumsy 
landing.  She  had  deep  gold  hair  and  gray  eyes  under 
pretty  dark  brows.  Her  cheeks  showed  rich  red  blood 
under  her  skin. 

"Good  morning,"  she  said,  smiling,  "how  fortunate ! 
You  can  take  me  back  across  the  lake.  You  will,  won't 
you?  It  is  getting  rough.  I  think  it  would  be  indis- 
creet for  me  to  risk  it,  in  a  canoe." 

Amos  Fortune  stood  up  in  the  leaky  boat  that 
sloshed  his  old  shoes  in  its  bilge  water,  and  took  off  his 
hat. 

"It  wouldn't  be  much  of  a  risk  if  you  should  start 
now,"  he  explained  politely;  "it  might  be  if  you  waited 
too  long.  But  my  little  girl  and  I  would  be  glad  to 
take  you  in,  and  tow  the  canoe." 


8  The    Golden   Answer 

"Will  you?"  she  exclaimed  gratefully.  "I  never 
take  risks,  even  little  ones."  She  came  down  to  the 
water's  edge.  "Here's  the  canoe,"  she  added,  some- 
what unnecessarily,  for  there  it  certainly  was!  "We 
can  tie  it  on  behind." 

She  helped  Amos  Fortune  make  the  small  craft  fast 
and  then,  smiling  at  him,  sat  down  in  the  stern  beside 
Harmony,  whose  eyes  were  open  wide. 

"Then  you  prefer  the  rowboat,"  he  asked  her 
gravely,  "rather  than  to  let  me  paddle?" 

"Please!"  answered  this  extraordinary  person.  "I 
didn't  intend  to  go  back  so  soon,  but  I  think  the  coast 
will  be  clear."  She  leaned  forward  with  confidential 
earnest  frankness.  "I  ran  away  from  someone.  When 
I  saw  you  coming  I  was  afraid  he  had  followed.  You 
didn't  see  anyone,  did  you?" 

"No,"  said  Amos. 

She  clasped  strong,  beautiful  fingers  on  her  knees 
and  inspected  the  man  opposite  her.  He  was  dressed 
in  his  oldest  clothes,  for  the  picnic,  but  he  wore  the 
shabby  gray  suit  and  faded  shirt  with  careless  unself- 
consciousness,  as  if  they  were  the  most  fashionable 
sports  costume.  He  was  an  odd  contrast  to  the 
rather  glittering  young  woman  in  the  stern  of  the  boat, 
and  to  fresh-cheeked  little  Harmony,  whose  leaf-brown 
eyes  flew  back  and  forth  from  him  to  the  girl  beside 
her.  For  he  looked,  on  this  bright  morning,  as  if  some 
light,  which  had  flamed,  was  burning  dim.  But  he 
pulled  energetically  on  the  heavy  oars  that  propelled 
the  boat,  an  old  lumbering  dory,  and  met  the  gray 
eyes  opposite  him  with  a  quiet  smile. 

"I  didn't  see  a  soul,"  he  told  her ;  "and  I  should  have 
noticed,  for  I — er — was  looking  for  someone." 

So  they  made  their  somehow  processional  course 
across  the  roughened  lake  into  the  river,  and  then  be- 


The   Golden  Answer  9 

tween  a  pageant  of  color  on  either  shore — fields  of 
buttercups  blazing  in  the  sun — while  ahead  in  the  west, 
with  menace  in  its  height,  the  purple  cloud  towered. 
And  all  this  time  Amos  Fortune  faced  the  stern!  If 
he  had  not  faced  it,  if  he  had  not  been  a  man  with  an 
absurd  ardor  for  beauty,  if  he  had  not  been  shut  up 
for  years  in  the  South  Sea  House, — but  why  con- 
jecture? 

At  his  landing  he  beached  the  rowboat.  The  girl 
stepped  out  and  stood  watching  him  help  Harmony — 
who  had  kept  very  still  all  the  way.  He  seemed  to 
whisper  something  to  the  child.  Then  the  girl  faced 
him,  and  laughed  a  little. 

"I  took  somebody's  old  canoe,"  she  shared  the  joke 
with  him.  "I  had  to  get  away,  and  the  door  of  this 
tumbledown  boathouse  opened  after  I  shook  it  once 
or  twice.  I  should  think  whoever  owns  that  canoe 
would  paint  it !  I  don't  believe  he's  missed  it,  do  you  ?" 

Amos  looked  the  canoe  over.  "It's  a  Peter- 
borough," he  offered. 

"Is  it?  Well,  it  answered.  If  he  had  been  here  and 
I  had  asked  him  nicely,  I  think  he  would  have  loaned 
it  to  me.  You  have  been  so  thoughtful  and  kind,  I'm 
sure  you  would  have !" 

"I  haven't  been  kind!"  replied  Amos,  whom  not 
many  people  thanked,  and  certainly  few  with  this  de- 
lightful earnestness.  "It  has  been  a — pleasure.  This 

is  such  a  golden  day,  and "  He  stopped  in  some 

amazement  at  his  own  words  and  at  what  he  had 
wanted  to  say. 

"But  that  cloud  is  bigger!"  she  exclaimed.  "I 
mustn't  risk  getting  wet.  Good-by." 

"If/*  said  Amos,  stepping  forward,  "I  ever — see — 
the  man  who  owns  this  canoe,  I'll  explain,  and  he'll  be 
glad  you  took  it,  when  you  needed  it." 


io  The    Golden   Answer 

She  laughed  once  more  and  ran  off.  "Tell  him  to 
paint  it,"  she  called  back.  Then  the  thunder  rolled  in 
the  distance,  and  with  the  storm  rapidly  coming  nearer 
Amos  had  to  hurry  to  get  both  boats  in  and  Harmony 
home. 

From  that  day  they  called  her  the  Discreet  Princess. 

The  field  across  the  lane  was  dark  now,  for  the  day- 
light had  vanished  while  Amos  Fortune  and  the  child 
sat  on  the  porch  in  the  garden  that  breathed  the  warm 
scent  of  lilacs. 

"Harmony,"  he  said,  rousing  himself,  "my  pipe  is 
out.  It  must  be  your  bed  time." 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  me  if  I  am  going  to  be  a  fairy!'* 
said  Harmony. 

"Yes,  by  all  means  be  a  fairy.  I  wonder  what  the 
play  is.  Did — she  say  ?" 

"No,  but  it  has  a  fool  in  it." 

"Most  plays  have !" 

"I'll  go  and  tell  her  to-morrow !  Isn't  it  lots  of  fun, 
Amos?" 

He  folded  her  in  his  arms  a  moment.  "We  haven't 
had  a  story  to-night,  have  we,  Baby  ?"  he  said.  "There 
have  been  real  stories  instead.  See  the  moon  coming 
up  over  there.  How  golden  she  is — I  wonder  if  your 
play  isn't  all  about  a  midsummer  night.  .  .  .  Here's  a 

story  to  go  to  bed  with "  He  laughed  softly,  this 

queer  man  from  the  South  Sea  House  who  could 
remember  yards  of  beautiful  nonsense — "Hark,  my 
Puck:  'Once  I  sat  upon  a  promontory,  and  heard  a 
mermaid  on  a  dolphin's  back  uttering  such  dulcet  and 
harmonious  breath  that  the  rude  sea  grew  civil  at  her 
song  and  certain  stars  shot  madly  from  their  spheres 
to  hear  the  sea  maid's  music !'"...  Chuckling  at 
Harmony's  parted  lips,  he  added,  "Run  along,  Mus- 
tardseed,  and  find  Johanna." 


The  Golden  Answer  n 

But  Harmony  stood  still  a  moment  and  put  her  cheek 
against  his  sleeve. 

"I'm  wishing,"  she  said. 

"Wishing  what?"    He  bent  over  her. 

"I  wish  you  were  my  father,  or  somebody!" 

Kmos  got  up  suddenly,  with  a  loud  scrape  of  his 
chair,  and  lifting  Harmony  in  his  arms  carried  her  into 
the  house  and  upstairs  to  her  own  room  next  his. 
There  he  put  her  to  bed  himself  with  deft  tenderness. 
When  she  reached  up  her  arms  to  say  good  night, 
looking  soft  and  babyish  in  her  nightgown,  she  asked: 

"Am  I  your  little  girl,  if  you're  only  my  dearess  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Amos  Fortune.  "You  are,  Har- 
mony." 


CHAPTER  II 

IT  was  natural  that  when  the  question  of  a  fairy 
dress  for  Harmony  came  up,  Johanna  should  bring 
her  to  the  South  Sea  House  to  meet  Amos,  and  that 
they  should  go  from  there  to  buy  it.  Harmony  had 
been  at  one  rehearsal  of  the  play  in  which  she  was  to 
be  a  fairy.  She  returned  with  a  note  for  Mr.  Fortune 
from  Christina  Ware.  This  had  hastily,  blindly,  and 
with  many  superfluous  lines  and  scratches  set  forth  the 
desirability  of  Harmony's  having,  at  Mr.  Fortune's 
earliest  convenience,  a  fairy  costume  "of  thin  material 
that  would  melt  into  a  woodland  background."  Amos 
was  puzzled,  not  because  he  did  not  know  how  Har- 
mony ought  to  look  as  a  fairy,  but  because  he  did  not 
know  how  to  go  about  making  her  look  that  way.  He 
bethought  him  to  take  such  help  as  the  South  Sea 
House  offered. 

At  the  South  Sea  House  Amos  worked  to  support 
Harmony  and  himself,  and  it  was  there  that  he  had 
the  clearest,  most  tantalizing  visions  of  "Avalon." 

One  of  the  dingiest  of  smoky  buildings  near  the 
river,  in  the  shadow  of  a  high  dark  bridge  which  lunges 
in  its  enormous  stride  over  a  maelstrom  of  shipping, 
was,  and  doubtless  is  to  this  day,  a  banking  house, 
where  gentlemen  from  foreign  parts  deposit  their 
money.  The  elevated  railroad  roared  by  its  darkened 
windows;  huge  trucks  rumbled  and  clattered  in  the 
street;  and  even  from  high  in  the  air  came  the  clang 
of  traffic  on  the  Bridge.  Only  a  triangle  of  sky  (above 

12 


The   Golden   Answer  13 

the  Bridge)  was  visible  from  one  of  the  less  important 
windows  of  the  old  bank, — that  is,  on  a  clear  day.  On 
a  foggy  morning,  or  in  the  early  closing  in  of  winter 
afternoons,  the  sky  vanished  completely  and  there  was 
merely  a  dim  suggestion  of  the  Bridge,  a  giant  ghost 
leaping  into  darkness. 

Near  this  unimportant  window,  not  even  next  to  it, 
was  Amos  Fortune's  desk,  where  he  sat  over  figures 
every  day  from  nine  until  five  or  later,  and  received 
at  the  end  of  the  week  an  envelope  containing  a  little 
money.  For  this  dark  old  building,  grimy  outside  and 
gloomy  within,  with  its  high  ceilings  lost  in  shadow 
and  its  many  green-shaded  lights  illuminating  great 
open  ledgers  over  which  bent  sleek  heads,  mostly  gray 
or  bald  or  both,  was  Amos's  and  Harmony's  "South 
Sea  House,"  the  hoary  American  offshoot  of  an  even 
more  ancient  and  substantial  London  firm.  Amos 
Fortune's  head  bent  all  day  over  a  ledger,  too,  but  it 
was  not  gray  or  bald  or  sleek.  His  eyes,  when  they 
were  raised  from  the  ledger,  looked  through  the  dusty 
window  out  and  up  to  the  Bridge  and  beyond  it  to  the 
triangular  sky,  if  it  happened  to  be  visible. 

But  though  his  head  bent  over  figures  and  his  eyes 
saw  only  these  and  dinginess  spotted  with  nimbuses 
of  electricity,  there  was  within  his  head  something  far 
different.  Figures  first,  in  office  hours  of  course,  but 
behind  them,  with  them,  glowing  through  them,  some- 
thing so  different  that  if  he  had  suddenly  spoken  his 
thoughts  aloud  all  those  sleek  heads  would  have  been 
raised  in  startled  alarm.  The  pen  scratching  would 
have  ceased — he  loved  to  fancy  this — and  out  of  the 
embarrassed  silence  a  thin  respectable  voice  would  rise 
and  waver:  "Take  him  away !  For  goodness  sake  lock 
him  up!"  And  then  a  dreary  little  man  in  an  alpaca 
coat  would  advance  out  of  the  gloom  and  whisper, 


14  The   Golden  Answer 

"We  can't  have  this,  sir,  in  banking  hours !  This  has 
nothing  to  do  with  Captain  Joel  Mayo's  mortgage  on 
the  Seagull.  Has  it?  I  say,  has  it?"  "No!"  Amos 
would  reply  with  appalling  loudness.  "And  you  ought 
to  know,  you  stupid,  blind  old  fool,  that  you  can't 
mortgage  a  seagull,  or  anything  named  that!"  And 
Amos,  not  being  as  yet  old  or  blind  or  stupid,  would 
look  in  undaunted  young  revolt  at  the  blinking  face 
above  him,  until  suddenly  he  would  see  its  tiredness  and 
whiteness  and  the  bent  shoulders  below  it,  and  then  he 
would  wonder  what  dim  beauties  had  come  swimming 
before  that  old  man's  rows  of  figures  all  these  years, 
no  rich  and  flaming  visions  certainly,  but  without 
doubt  something  comfortable.  So,  his  fancy  over,  he 
would  make  an  errand  down  the  aisle  to  stretch  his 
legs,  and  in  passing  would  put  his  hand  on  some  old 
man's  shoulder. 

For  there  was  once  a  place — an  island  in  the  ocean 
with  a  castle  of  lodestone  upon  it — "not  far  on  this 
side  of  the  terrestial  paradise,"  and  the  island  was 
called  Avalon.  That  was  what  Amos  called  his  Book, 
"Avalon."  Into  it  went  all  the  warm  beauty  and 
astonishing  dreams  and  terrible  knowledge  in  his  soul, 
and  the  ripe  wine  of  living  of  which  he  had  already 
drunk. 

He  had  to  write  in  odd  and  stolen  moments,  late  at 
night  or  on  Sundays,  but  he  had,  after  years,  won  a 
little  success.  His  essays  on  Prismatic  Banking  had 
appeared  in  The  Atlantic  Monthly.  He  was  supposed 
to  be  the  only  person  who  had  seen  the  romance  under- 
neath the  columns  of  figures  in  a  ledger.  (Captain 
Joel  Mayo's  mortgage  of  the  Seagull  had  produced  the 
best  of  the  essays.)  He  published  these  under  the 
name  of  Jeremy  Pride.  If  he  had  not  he  might  have 
lost  his  job.  As  it  was  their  appearance  created  a 


The   Golden  Answer  15 

little  whirlwind  among  the  withered  leaves  in  the  old 
bank  by  the  river:  astonishment,  consternation,  bewil- 
dered surprise,  but  not  one  smile.  They  would  not 
have  read  the  essays  at  all  if  Hilda  Martin  had  not 
seen  to  it  that  they  did  so.  But  books  about  adolescence 
seldom  interest  the  adolescent;  and  essays  about  old 
bookkeepers  only  confuse  or  bore  old  bookkeepers,  who 
usually  prefer  to  read  about  detectives  or  fashionable 
clubmen  or  broncho  busters. 

Only  the  whimsical  side  of  Amos  Fortune's  mind 
had  gone  into  these  essays.  There  was  another  side, 
presaged  by  a  powerful  short  story  called  "Ripe  Corn." 
And  it  was  when  he  had  thoughts  that  were  to  go  into 
his  book  that  you  would  have  said  his  eyes  had  been 
seeing  something  wonderful.  They  had  seen  Avalon. 

So  the  long  hours  when  he  was  chained  to  a  desk  in 
the  South  Sea  House  were  hours  of  bitter  deprivation, 
for  the  house  had  power  not  only  over  his  body  but 
over  his  mind !  Figures  in  columns !  He  had  an  un- 
broken spirit  and  he  knew  the  taste  of  gall. 

To  keep  the  heart  in  him  he  used  to  tell  Harmony 
gay  stories  about  the  South  Sea  House  and  the  Firm, 
who  lived  there.  In  the  stories  this  personage  often 
appeared  as  a  fierce  jailer  who  kept  people  in  prison 
forever  and  ever.  But  sometimes,  too,  for  Amos  was 
fair,  he  was  a  benevolent  old  gentleman  who  owned 
a  trunk  full  of  gold  dollars  and  a  barn  of  muffins 
and  barrels  of  jam,  which  he  gave  to  the  children  of 
poor  men,  even  those  who  foolishly  thought  themselves 
princes  in  disguise.  In  return  for  these  handsome 
favors  one  must  work  for  him,  of  course. 

But  even  though  he  could  not  write  it,  except  in 
snatches,  the  Book  was,  next  to  Harmony,  the  most 
important  thing  in  this  period  of  his  life,  the  period 
before  the  coming  of  Christina  Ware.  He  lavished 


16  The   Golden   Answer 

on  it  and  on  Harmony  all  the  good  in  him.  He  loved  it 
with  real  passion.  While  he  could  cling  to  it — as  he 
did  to  Harmony's  loveliness  and  innocence — he  was 
safe. 

Amos  Fortune  did  not  like  to  be  safe!  But  there 
was  one  thing  in  which  he  had  learned  he  must  be. 
There  had  been  a  hard,  close,  lonely  fight.  He  loathed 
bondage,  and  discretion.  Yet,  he  must  accustom  his 
feet  and  brain  to  bondage,  his  inborn  inclinations  to 
discretion.  And  he  had  so  far  won  the  fight. 

His  brother  and  his  grandfather  had  not  won.  They 
had,  indeed,  walked — rapidly — in  a  place  often  known 
disrespectfully  as  "the  Primrose  Path."  This  leads, 
naturally,  in  the  opposite  direction  from  Avalon.  But 
Amos  was  finding,  lately,  with  the  first  agony  behind 
him,  that  it  was  almost  easy  not  to  walk  there,  when 
one  loves.  This  was  the  importance  of  the  Book  and 
of  Harmony. 

They  were  not  all  withered  leaves  at  the  South  Sea 
House.  Besides  Amos  and  one  or  two  others  of  the 
younger  men  there  were  a  few  girls.  They  were  useful 
at  adding  machines  or  typewriters  or  to  indicate  to 
straying  women  where  to  endorse  checks.  It  was 
Hilda  Martin  who  treasured  the  classic  story  of  the 
woman  who  wrote  legibly  on  the  back  of  a  check  when 
Hilda  told  her  to  endorse  it,  "I  heartily  endorse  this 
check." 

If  Hilda  were  any  kind  of  leaf  at  all  it  would  have 
been  the  slim  and  graceful  birch.  She  was  slender  and 
pale  with  delicate  features  framed  in  soft  hair  of 
almost  a  neutral  tint.  You  would  have  said,  "Oh,  it 
must  be  brown."  Her  eyes  were  large  and  frank  and 
as  near  green  as  any  color.  She  wore  green  often,  for 
years  a  loose  but  well  made  green  tweed  suit,  and  a 
small  green  beaver  hat  in  winter,  pulled  well  down. 


The   Golden   Answer  17 

She  had  firm  sweet  lips.  You  had  the  feeling  that  you 
could  not  fool  Hilda  Martin. 

Amos  knew  Hilda  rather  well.  That  is,  having  met 
at  the  bank  they  had  found  they  lived  in  the  same 
suburb  and  they  had  many  times  made  the  train  trip 
together.  She  and  her  mother  had  advised  him  about 
Harmony.  Hilda  always  loved  to  hear  about  the  child. 
Once  in  a  long  time  they  would  have  luncheon  together 
and  discuss  problems  about  Harmony.  They  called 
these  musical  problems  and  sometimes  Harmonic 
moments,  and  were  pleased  that  they  both  knew  this 
wasn't  very  funny  but  a  neat  little  thing  between  them. 

Hilda  was  the  only  one  in  the  South  Sea  House  who 
recognized  that  Prismatic  Banking  referred  to  any 
special  bank,  or  who  suspected  that  Amos  was  "Jeremy 
Pride."  When  she  had  charged  him  with  it  he  was 
so  embarrassed  that  he  gave  himself  away.  After 
that  she  took  immense  delight  in  knowing  an  "author," 
and  kept  his  secret  well.  And,  also,  she  was  the  only 
person  anywhere  who  knew  why  he  whimsically  called 
the  bank  the  South  Sea  House.  In  an  old  brown 
volume  of  Lamb's  letters  at  home  she  had  marked  this 
passage:  "This  dead,  everlasting  dead  desk, — how  it 
weighs  the  spirit  of  a  gentleman  down.  This  dead 
wood  of  a  desk,  instead  of  your  living  trees !"  Amos 
had  never  said  anything  like  that  to  her.  But  she  had 
marked  it  one  evening  after  meeting  him  on  a  Sunday 
morning  in  the  woods,  in  his  old  clothes  and  without  a 
hat,  and  with  happy  eyes.  He  had  stopped  to  talk  to 
her  and  had  said,  with  his  hand  on  a  great  oak,  "How 
can  they  cut  them  down  and  make  things  out  of  them 
to  sit  on  and  to  sit  up  to?"  That  was  as  near  as  he 
had  come  to  saying  it. 

Once  in  a  great  while  Harmony  came  to  the  South 
Sea  House.  She  was  kept  carefully  out  of  the  way  of 


i8  The   Golden   Answer 

the  white-headed  powers,  but  some  of  the  snuffy  little 
underlings  hovered  around  her  smiling  freshness  and 
pinched  her  cheeks  with  parched  old  fingers  and  talked 
about  her  brown  eyes  and  bright  brown  curls.  When 
she  came  she  was  brought  by  Johanna  and  it  was 
usually  a  matter  of  clothes.  Amos  would  quickly  eat 
a  sandwich  and  then  go  with  her  and  Johanna  to  a  big 
down-town  shop  where  he  bought  her  things.  Once  he 
had  asked  Hilda  to  go  with  them  and  she  had  con- 
sented. 

When  it  became  a  question  of  the  fairy  dress  he 
suspected  that  he  could  not  make  a  saleswoman  with 
Hottentot  puffs  over  her  ears  and  perhaps  prominent 
teeth — he  was  always  flustered  by  prominent  teeth — 
understand.  Therefore  he  took  Harmony  by  the  hand 
and  without  hesitation  led  her  to  Hilda  Martin. 
Hilda  was  getting  her  gloves  out  of  her  desk  and 
looking  into  her  purse  to  see  how  much  money  she 
could  spare  for  her  lunch.  Amos  had  told  Hilda  about 
the  play  and  Harmony's  part  in  it.  Now  he  showed 
her  Christina  Ware's  note,  somewhat  proudly.  Hilda 
kissed  Harmony,  read  the  note  and  beamed. 

"I  know  just  what  you  ought  to  have,"  she  told 
them.  Both  pairs  of  brown  eyes  were  appealing  to  her. 
"It  should  look  like  gray  cobwebs  with  green  moss 
tangled  in  it." 

"Exactly,"  said  Amos.  "You've  hit  it  just  right, 
Hilda  Martin.  Come  and  help  us  choose  it  right,  will 
you?" 

So  Hilda  went  with  them  out  of  the  gloomy  old 
South  Sea  House  into  the  sunshine.  The  Bridge  in 
the  air  seemed  beautiful  and  daring.  The  city  roared 
a  chant  of  work.  People  pressed  and  milled  about 
them,  eagerly  seeking  air  and  food.  There  were  no 
green  trees  and  sweet-smelling  turf,  but  the  sky  was 


The   Golden  Answer  19 

blue,  and  the  breeze  had  the  soft  breath  of  summer 
before  the  heat  comes.  Amos  and  Hilda  both  felt 
happy. 

In  the  big  shop,  after  they  had  eaten  luncheon,  Hilda 
asked  to  see  brownish-gray  filmy  things  with  French 
names,  and  mossy  bits  of  velvets,  and  brown  leaves. 
And  they  bought  a  little  here  and  there  until  Hilda 
said  the  dress  would  be  fit  for  a  Titania.  Amos  was 
enthusiastic  and  often  consulted  the  authoritative  note. 

It  was  later,  when  they  were  coming  out  of  the  shop, 
that  they  saw  her,  and  after  that  the  day  was  different 
for  them  both.  She  was  stepping  from  a  taxicab, 
assisted  by  an  attentive  young  man  with  a  cropped 
mustache  and  acquisitive  eyes.  She  smiled  and  nodded 
and  waved  her  hand  to  Harmony.  Her  gray  eyes  were 
so  warm  and  soft,  to-day,  her  beauty  so  rich  and 
golden,  that  the  sun  seemed  to  have  blazed  out  there  in 
the  shadow  of  the  tall  building.  She  went  into  the 
shop  without  looking  around,  followed  by  her  com- 
panion. Amos,  with  his  hat  off,  stood  looking  after 
her.  His  cheeks,  usually  colorless,  had  flushed  red  like 
a  boy's.  Hilda,  grasping  the  bundle  of  gray  "cob- 
webs," which  she  carried  for  its  safety,  looked  at 
Amos  keenly.  It  was  a  strange  long  moment  before 
he  turned  back  to  her,  and  then  she  had  bent  down  to 
straighten  Harmony's  hat 


CHAPTER  III 

HARMONY  went  regularly  to  the  rehearsals  at  the 
big  house  on  the  corner.  Johanna  took  her  and 
brought  her  home.  Amos  wanted  to  call  for  her,  but 
just  because  he  wanted  to  so  much  he  would  not.  He 
even  came  from  the  train  the  back  way,  which  led  up 
the  lane  from  its  less  respectable  end,  in  order  to  avoid 
walking  past  the  big  house  where  the  Discreet  Princess 
was  staying.  If  he  went  directly  past  it  would  be  queer 
not  to  stop  for  Harmony. 

So  he  continued  coming  home  by  the  back  way. 
Strangely  it  was  a  very  small  thing  that  stopped  him : 
On  the  third  night  of  his  appearance  from  the  dis- 
reputable end  of  the  lane  where  the  convivial  saloon 
disgraced  the  corner,  he  saw  stern  old  Johanna,  who 
loved  them  both,  looking  at  him  closely,  anxiously. 
He  had  been  singing  a  funny  song.  He  stopped  sing- 
ing at  her  look  as  if  she  had  struck  the  song  from  his 
lips,  and  flushed.  Dropping  into  a  chair  he  opened  his 
arms  for  Harmony,  but  Johanna  quickly  called  her  into 
the  kitchen.  After  sitting  alone  for  a  few  minutes  he 
followed  Harmony.  Johanna  was  frightened  when 
she  saw  his  face  for  he  turned  a  cold  look  upon  her. 
He  took  the  little  girl  by  the  hand  and  led  her  back  to 
his  chair  by  the  window,  where  he  held  her  in  his  lap 
until  the  supper  was  ready.  If  he  had  shown  Johanna 
that  she  had  misunderstood  his  motive  in  coming  from 
the  disreputable  end  of  the  lane,  she  had  also  opened 
his  eyes.  The  next  night  he  came  from  the  train  by 
the  usual  way,  which  led  by  the  house  of  Christina's 
aunt. 

20 


The   Golden   Answer  21 

It  happened  just  as  Amos,  with  his  uncanny  knowl- 
edge, knew  that  it  would  if  he  did  not  keep  out  of  her 
way.  As  he  passed  the  garden  of  the  big  house  he  saw 
children  coming  through  the  white  gate.  Within,  on 
the  lawn,  there  was  a  bright  group — girls  in  light 
dresses  and  gay  colored  sweaters,  young  men  in 
flannels,  and  little  children  with  curls.  He  saw  Har- 
mony first,  and  someone  in  a  yellow  sweater  standing 
with  her  arm  around  the  child.  Just  then,  while  he 
was  gazing  over  the  heads  of  the  group  of  children  at 
the  gate  to  those  on  the  lawn  Harmony  saw  him.  She 
gave  a  little  shriek  of  welcome,  and  Christina  Ware 
smilingly  beckoned  to  him.  So  he  turned  in  at  her 
gate  for  the  first  time.  He  felt  office  worn  and  dusty 
as  he  walked  toward  her,  but  he  bore  himself  well 
during  the  difficult  performance  of  approaching  people 
who  watch  one's  advance. 

Christina  held  out  her  hand  to  him  and  looked 
straight  into  his  eyes.  He  had  wondered  whether  she 
would  ignore  or  acknowledge  their  meeting  on  the 
river.  She  was  wholly  equal  to  the  situation. 

"I  always  take  what  I  want,"  she  laughed.  "This 
time  it's  your  little  girl." 

Then  she  introduced  him  rather  casually  to  several 
people  standing  near,  and  Amos  found  himself  greeted 
with  a  pleasantness  as  casual.  One  of  the  young  men 
was  he  of  the  short  mustache  and  exploring  eyes  whom 
he  had  seen  alight  with  Miss  Ware  from  a  taxicab  not 
long  since.  His  name  was  Philip  Dana.  He  seemed 
to  Amos  to  be  nervous  and  not  especially  happy.  He 
moved  about  a  great  deal,  smoking  rapidly,  and  looked 
at  Christina.  She  avoided  his  eyes  but  seemed  con- 
scious of  him. 

Immediately,  with  much  talk  about  nothing  of  in- 
terest to  an  outsider,  they  all  moved  toward  a  pretty 


22  The    Golden   Answer 

pergola  where  there  were  wicker  chairs  and  pink 
chintz  cushions,  making  an  outdoor  sitting-room  of  a 
rose-bricked  passage  between  lawn  and  garden.  To 
Amos  this  was  a  restful  close  to  a  tedious,  gritty  day 
at  the  South  Sea  House.  The  wide  green  lawns  with 
peaceful  trees,  the  fragrant,  many-colored  garden 
under  the  late  sunlight,  the  quiet  seclusion  and  air 
of  genial  intimacy  among  these  people  who  were  all 
old  friends,  welcomed  him. 

He  found  himself  sitting  next  to  Dana  and  accepting 
a  light  from  his  cigarette. 

"You're  not  in  this  play,"  Dana  said  suddenly  to 
Amos  under  cover  of  the  general  talk  and  fixing  his 
queer  black  eyes  upon  him.  For  an  instant  Amos  saw 
straight  into  their  restless  depths. 

"No,"  he  answered,  lowering  his  own  eyes  for  fear 
of  seeing  more. 

"I  have  the  part  of  the  Fool,"  went  on  Dana. 
"Christina  seeks  to  honor  me." 

"But  really  to  play  the  Fool  is  a  difficult  art." 

Dana  laughed.  "She  does  me  too  much  honor.  I 
shall  bungle  it."  He  gave  Christina  a  long,  silent 
scrutiny,  smiling  strangely  to  himself. 

"Have  you  known  Miss  Ware  long?  I  haven't  seen 
you  here  before,  have  I  ?" 

"Not  very  long,"  Amos  answered. 

"I  thought  so,"  Dana  smoked  in  another  silence; 
then  he  leaned  to  Amos,  grinning  satirically. 

"I'm  a  daring  man,"  he  said.    "You'll  see!" 

Amos  thought  he  certainly  was  a  disagreeable  one. 

Christina  Ware,  the  rich  color  deepening  in  her 
cheeks,  was  talking  with  animation  to  two  girls  in 
smart  white  frocks  and  a  red-haired  young  man  who 
wore  large  tortoise-shell  spectacles  and  was  afflicted 
with  a  stammer.  Amos  wondered  what  even  a  discreet 


The    Golden   Answer  23 

princess  could  do  with  him  in  a  play.  The  young 
man's  name  was  Toynbee.  It  developed  that  he  was 
a  herald. 

Philip  Dana  leaned  toward  Miss  Ware. 

"Isn't  the  rehearsal  over  ?"  he  asked. 

"But  you're  going  to  stay  and  have  some  tea !"  She 
said  it  with  a  tiny  shade  of  haste,  a  hint  of  the  im- 
promptu. And  she  spoke  first  to  Dana,  although  in  a 
second  she  had  turned  to  include  the  others. 

Amos  would  not  have  stayed  himself  if  others  be- 
sides Dana  had  not.  Since  they  were  to  be  there  he 
saw  no  reason  why  he  could  not  be,  too.  He  could  not 
make  his  Discreet  Princess  out  with  this  man  who  was 
to  play  the  Fool,  and  he  wished  to  try  to  make  her  out. 
He  sat  back  in  his  comfortable  chair  and  talked  with 
the  younger  Miss  Willard,  the  plump,  pretty  one,  about 
a  musical  comedy  he  had  not  heard,  and  was  aware  of 
those  two — for  Dana  had  crossed  to  Christina's  side — 
while  he  also  watched  over  Harmony's  cambric  tea. 
And  he  had  a  strange,  sure  feeling,  underneath  all  this 
commonplace  exterior,  of  the  onward  swing  of  events. 

His  Discreet  Princess  was  beautiful  beyond  his  re- 
membrance of  her. 

She  had  tea  served  in  the  pergola  and  poured  it  her- 
self into  green  cups  while  she  talked  to  Dana,  smiling 
lightly  up  at  him.  He  was  scowling. 

"The  poor  Fool — wanted  to  be  the  Hero,"  Amos 
heard  her  say. 

Behind  the  light  exterior  of  their  talk  was  something 
far  more  serious,  of  which  Amos  was  conscious, 
though  he  heard  no  more.  He  was  so  afraid  he  would 
hear  more  that  he  talked  with  a  surprising  loudness 
that  caused  Nora  Willard,  as  long  as  she  knew  him,  to 
consider  him  a  little  deaf.  Amos  always  wondered, 
later,  why  she  raised  her  voice  when  addressing  him. 


24  The    Golden   Answer 

Dana  was  saying  to  Christina  Ware: 

"Why  did  you  refuse  to  see  me  last  night?" 

"How  terribly  stern  all  at  once !"  she  laughed.  "You 
can't  even  be  the  Fool  if  you  scowl  so.  You  must  have 
nice  smily  lines  around  your  mouth." 

"Why  wouldn't  you  let  me  come  last  night?"  he 
repeated. 

"I  gave  you  a  very  good  reason." 

This  time  it  was  Dana  who  laughed.  "My  dear  girl, 
don't  you  suppose  I  am  beginning  to  know  you  ?" 

"I  hope  so.  Lots  of  people  think  I'm  worth  know- 
ing! And  even  you,  you  solemn  creature,  have  spent 
some  time  in  studying  me." 

"Your  tactics  aren't  at  all  original.  Shall  I  tell  you 
why  you  wouldn't  let  me  see  you  last  night?" 

"If  you  like.    It  might  be  interesting." 

"Because  at  that  point  you  thought  the  game  re- 
quired retreat.  In  order  to  make  me  more  eager !" 

"And  have  you  been,  to-day,  just  a  little — eager, 
Philip?" 

His  dark  face  flushed.  "I  won't  be — I  won't  be 
made  a  fool  of !" 

"But,  you  see,  for  policy's  sake,  and  the  hospital, 
Charles  Brent  simply  has  to  be  the  Hero !" 

Dana  impolitely  swore  under  his  breath,  and  Chris- 
tina, still  smiling,  began  to  grow  a  little  white  and  the 
banter  of  her  replies  to  show  strain.  He  controlled  his 
own  voice  and  became  again  satirical: 

"You  don't  seem  to  realize  that  this  lovely-nymph- 
fleeing-through-the-forest-with-Apollo-in-pursuit-busi- 
ness  is  worn  thin.  May  I  suggest  that,  though  it  may 
be  the  way  to  win  some  men,  it  is  an  excellent  way  to 
lose — others  ?" 

"Apollo?  Dear  me,  you  make  the  name  practically 
synonymous  with  'man' !  I  wonder  if  it  ever  occurred 


The   Golden   Answer  25 

to — any  man — that  it  is  just  possible  the  nymph 
wanted  to  escape?" 

He  leaned  closer.  "The  trick  is  too  old.  I  know 
how  to  turn  it  myself,  Christina." 

Suddenly  it  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  help  raising 
startled  eyes  to  his  face. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

Dana's  reply  was  inaudible,  but  Christina  somewhat 
thinly  laughed. 

Then,  just  as  Amos  was  telling  the  plump  Miss 
Willard  that  he  had  not  been  to  the  Follies,  there  was 
a  crash  of  breaking  china  on  the  rose-brick  pavement, 
and  Christina  Ware,  very  pale,  stared  at  a  broken 
green  cup  from  which  crept  an  amber  stream  of  tea, 
while  Dana  recited  an  apology  as  if  it  were  a  line  in 
the  play,  and  wheeling  on  his  heel  walked  off  across 
the  lawn  and  out  through  the  front  gate.  Toynbee 
knelt  to  gather  the  fragments  while  Amos  sopped  up 
the  tea  with  his  handkerchief.  In  doing  so  he  wiped 
several  yellow  drops  from  a  small,  white-shod  foot. 
Looking  up  he  met  her  eyes.  And  Christina  Ware 
knew,  with  a  queer  beat  of  her  heart,  that  this  man 
understood  what  had  happened.  For  he  had  given  her 
an  encouraging  smile. 

"Other  foot,"  he  commanded  gayly.  She  stuck  it  out 
and  he  wiped  that  too,  with  a  few  extra  pats  and 
flourishes. 

"Now,"  he  said,  rising  above  her,  "I'm  going  to 
give  you  tea  myself.  If  I'm  ever  out  of  a  job  I  can 
apply  for  one  as  your  butler.  Perhaps  you'll  give  me 
a  character  if  I  do  this  right." 

He  stood  protectingly  between  her  and  four  curious 
Willard  eyes  while  she  silently  accepted  what  he  gave 
her.  Then,  uninvited,  he  sat  down  beside  her.  You 
would  not  have  known  that  he  saw  her  hands  shaking 


26  The   Golden   Answer 

— enough  to  drop  a  teacup.  His  mind  had  shot 
straight  to  the  truth:  that  to  the  sovereign  Miss  Ware, 
who  disposed  of  her  subjects  as  captiously  as  she 
pleased,  this  moody,  handsome,  restless  man  who  had 
just  left  so  rudely,  was  Achilles's  heel. 

"Miss  Christina  Ware,"  he  began,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eyes,  "did  you  ever  find  out  who  owned  that  canoe 
last  summer?" 

She  breathed  her  relief. 

"It  was  yours." 

"Yes,  and  I  want  you  to  know  I've  painted  it." 

She  laughed  a  little,  recovering  herself  rapidly. 
"You  took  it  beautifully." 

"No — it  was  you  who  took  it  beautifully !" 

As  he  watched  her,  still  pale,  gentler  than  he  had 
seen  her  before,  glad  to  be  helped  back  to  self-posses- 
sion, a  slow,  warm  tide  of  tenderness  flooded  up  into 
his  heart,  not  unlike  what  he  felt  for  Harmony. 

The  Willard  girls  rose  to  go,  accompanied  by  Toyn- 
bee,  inarticulate  over  the  honor  of  being  a  herald.  And 
it  fell  out  that  it  was  not  Mr.  Philip  Dana  who  lingered 
intimately  beside  Christina's  tea  table,  but  Mr.  Amos 
Fortune  and  the  child  Harmony. 

Christina  was  amazed  to  find  that  she  wanted  him 
to  stay.  No  one  had  ever  wiped  her  shoes  before, 
except  a  colored  porter  or  a  compatriot  of  Petrarch. 
She  had  enjoyed  it.  She  wondered  where  this  man  of 
the  shabby  canoe  and  the  small  house,  also  peeling 
paint,  got  his  rare  manner  and  his  tactfulness.  She 
was  curious,  too,  about  the  little  girl  with  the  brown 
eyes.  His  own  eyes  were  brown. 

When  the  others  had  gone,  she  asked  him  to  sit 
down.  He  did  so  silently,  almost  solemnly. 

"Harmony  has  told  me  about  the  dress,"  said  Chris- 
tina, letting  her  eyes  rest  on  the  child,  who  sat  properly 


The   Golden   Answer  27 

with  her  back  against  a  pink  cushion.  "Gray  cobwebs 
and  moss — that  is  like  fairy  raiment." 

"It  was  not  my  idea,"  disclaimed  Amos. 

"Whose,  then?" 

"You  suggested  it  and  it  was  carried  out  by  a  girl 
who  works  with  me  at  the  South  Sea  House." 

"The  South  Sea  House!  What  on  earth  is  that? 
What  do  you  do  there?  Is  the  girl  by  chance  a — a 
South  Sea  Islander?" 

Amos  raised  his  eyes  to  hers.  "It's  just  an  old  bank. 
I  named  it  that." 

"Oh,"  Christina  hesitated.  "I — suppose  it  must  be 
— warm  there." 

He  smiled.  Why  should  she  get  the  point  ?  Every- 
body did  not  read  Charles  Lamb.  It  was  sweet  of  her 
to  think  about  its  being  hot. 

"Hilda  Martin  is  a  nice  girl,"  he  added.  "She  often 
helps  me  out  with  Harmony." 

An  odd  look  leaped  into  the  eyes  of  Christina  Ware. 
The  only  reason  Eve  did  not  have  that  look  was  be- 
cause she  was  the  only  woman  in  the  world.  That 
Christina  was  unconscious  of  it  only  goes  to  prove  its 
antiquity. 

"That  is  lovely  of  her,"  she  answered  sweetly.  And 
then  she  swiftly  descended  with  her  question,  without 
preface. 

"Mr.  Fortune — I'm  curious.  Is  Harmony  your 
little  girl?  She  has  such  an  odd,  delightful  name  for 
you." 

Amos  looked  across  at  Harmony,  and  Christina 
thought  she  had  never  seen  eyes  look  quite  like  that 
before.  He  answered  her  slowly. 

"Yes,  she's  mine,  in  a  way.  I  have  given  her — my 
name,  the  name  of  Fortune.  She  is  the  child  of— of 
a  friend,  who  is  dead.  She — has  no — mother." 


28  The   Golden   Answer 

He  told  her  this  so  earnestly,  as  if  to  impress  it  upon 
her,  that  Christina  smiled  at  him,  quickly,  beautifully. 
It  was  her  most  disarming  smile,  and  she  knew  it.  It 
was  a  kind  she  did  not  use  often.  At  that  moment 
when  he  had  turned  back  to  her  she  had  felt  that  he 
needed  someone's  best  smile.  So  she  gave  him  hers. 
But  why  couldn't  the  man  say  whether  he  was  or  had 
been  married? 

"Harmony  is  a  dear,"  she  said  gently. 

"Isn't  she?"  His  eagerness  glowed.  Then  he 
added,  with  grave  eyes  on  the  child,  "If  I  should  ever 
marry — it  would  be  better  for  her.  I  can't  take — her 
mother's — place." 

"She's  a  very  well  brought  up  little  girl,"  brightly 
congratulated  Miss  Ware.  "Don't  worry  about  that." 

"It  must  be  so,"  he  smiled,  rising  to  leave  her, 
"Hilda  Martin  says  so,  too." 

Entirely  mistress  of  herself  now,  she  put  her  hand 
in  his — there  was  a  delicate  bond  of  gratitude  between 
them.  She  asked  him  to  come  again.  And  she  kissed 
Harmony. 

As  director  of  the  play  Christina  was  strict.  She 
had  a  fine  for  every  possible  misdemeanor.  There 
was  a  five-cent  fine  for  each  prompting;  if  you  were 
late  you  paid  ten  cents;  absence  cost  a  quarter.  The 
matter  of  these  fines  had  far-reaching  results. 

One  afternoon  Harmony,  to  her  great  distress,  was 
ten  minutes  late.  Johanna  had  let  her  sleep  too  long. 
Amos  believed  in  the  babyish  habit  of  naps,  which 
Harmony  energetically  disbelieved  in,  though  she  slept 
sweetly  and  soundly  for  two  hours  every  afternoon. 
Then,  that  day,  Johanna  had  to  finish  ironing  a  fresh 
dress;  Harmony  was  undoubtedly  late.  When  the 


The   Golden   Answer  29 

rehearsal  was  over,  before  the  others  dispersed,  she 
ran  quickly  home  for  her  fine  money. 

In  a  little  iron  elephant  named  Jumbo  she  had 
horded  seven  pennies.  Jumbo  stood  on  her  own  small 
dressing  table — which  had  dotted  Swiss  ruffles  secured 
with  brass  tacks  in  even  rows,  neatly  hammered  there 
by  Amos.  In  her  hurry  to  extract  the  seven  pennies 
from  Jumbo's  hollow  iron  vitals  Harmony  bent  several 
of  Johanna's  hair  pins.  Penny  by  penny,  Jumbo 
yielded  until  at  last  there  were  seven. 

The  fine  was  ten  pennies.  Harmony  knew  there 
should  be  three  more,  but  she  intended  to  ask  the  Dis- 
creet Princess  to  trust  her  for  those  until  next  time. 
Harmony  wanted  to  get  the  whole  transaction  over 
before  Amos  arrived.  He  gave  her  ten  cents  a  week 
as  an  allowance.  Of  course  he  would  give  her  the 
three  pennies  now  or  the  whole  dime.  But  she  had 
the  feminine  desire  to  finance  this  wholly  personal 
business  without  explanation  to  masculine  authority. 
So  she  ran  back  to  the  big  house  on  the  corner  with  her 
seven  pennies  in  her  hand. 

Harmony  walked  through  the  garden,  observing  that 
everyone  had  gone  home  from  the  rehearsal.  Evi- 
dently there  was  to  be  no  tea  party  to-day.  She  would 
look  first  for  the  Discreet  Princess  in  the  pergola, 
where  she  sat  quite  often  now  beside  Amos  while  he 
talked  with  Miss  Ware,  where  he  had  wiped  the  pretty 
shoes  with  his  handkerchief.  She  walked  along  the 
garden  paths  in  her  little  blue  chambray  dress,  with 
puckers  called  smocking  that  Hilda  had  advised,  and 
held  the  seven  pennies  tight  in  her  small,  moist  palm. 
Poor  Jumbo — so  empty  on  the  dressing  table!  She 
took  the  long  way  through  the  garden  because  she  liked 
to  imagine  herself  Alice,  and  always  hoped  that  around 
the  next  corner  the  Mock  Turtle  would  bow  to  her  and 


3O  The   Golden  Answer 

commence  to  cry.  That  was  the  reason  that  she  now 
approached  the  pergola  from  the  back  way  through 
the  hollyhocks.  And  she  found  Christina  there  as  she 
had  expected.  Mr.  Philip  Dana  was  there,  too,  talking 
to  her  in  his  most  charming  voice  and  looking  his 
handsomest.  Amos  had  taught  Harmony  never  to 
interrupt.  So  she  stood  among  the  hollyhocks  squeez- 
ing the  pennies,  and  waited  for  an  opportunity  to  give 
them  to  Miss  Ware.  They  did  not  see  her,  but  Har- 
mony thought  nothing  of  that,  being  only  seven. 

Christina's  eyes  had  a  glint  of  excitement,  though 
her  face  had  somehow  stiffened. 

"It  seems  to  me  very  strange,"  she  said  slowly  to 
Philip  Dana,  "that  you  care  so  little  about  the  success 
of  this  undertaking  of  mine  that  you  would  go  and 
leave  me  now,  three  days  before  the  performance, 
without  anyone  for  the  Fool's  part.  Don't  you  care 
whether  you  spoil  the  play  or  not?" 

"Oh,  it  won't  be  spoiled,"  answered  Dana,  smiling 
into  her  eyes.  "You  can  get  someone  else." 

"No  one  could  learn  the  part  in  two  days.  If  you 
go  I  shall  give  up  the  play,  and  the  hospital  will  lose 
the  money  I  practically  pledged." 

"I'll  write  them  a  check.  Don't  be  argumentative, 
Christina,  you're  not  so  pretty  when  you  argue.  It 
isn't  your  style." 

"And  it  isn't  my  style  to  ask  a  reason  for  a  dis- 
courtesy, but  this  time  I'm  going  to." 

The  Discreet  Princess  was  growing  a  little  white; 
the  stiffness  of  her  face  was  breaking  into  unlovely 
lines. 

"I've  told  you,  my  dear  Christina, — I've  had  a  letter 
that  calls  me  away.  It's  imperative." 

"But  you  have  neglected  to  tell  me  where  you  are 
going,  if  you  go." 


The  Golden  Answer  31 

"To  Narragansett." 

"Then  Edith  is  back." 

"I  believe  so." 

"Edith  is  so  pretty,  in  spite  of  her  teeth,  it  is  strange 
she  hasn't  married  again  before  this." 

"She  is  rather — particular." 

"I  should  have  said — energetic — was  a  better  word." 

"And  I'm  beginning  to  think  she  loved  poor  Carl- 
ton,"  added  Dana. 

"So  dearly  that  he  had  to  kill  himself.  .  .  .  And 
that  hasn't  weakened  her — energy.  Do  give  my  love 
to  Edith  when  you  see  her.  .  .  .  And  don't  worry  in 
the  least  about  the  play.  I'll  give  it  up.  I  can  get  a 
good  check  for  the  hospital  from  one  of  my  friends." 

"Now  you  are  talking  reasonably — you  always  could 
see  a  point  quickly,  Christina.  What  was  it  that  plump 
fairy  called  you  the  other  day — the  Discreet  Princess  ? 
May  I  be  so  un-American  as  to  kiss  your  hand  in 
farewell,  Princess?" 

Christina  laughed ;  she  had  an  unusually  pretty  and 
musical  laugh.  "Certainly,  why  not?"  She  gave  him 
her  hand.  "Did  Harmony  call  me  that?  .  .  .  After 
this  absurd  ceremony  I  believe  the  book  says  'Exit 
Fool!'" 

"So  it  does.    Good-by,  Christina !" 

Dana — being  a  daring  man — took  his  tall,  good- 
looking  self  off,  while  Christina  stood  quietly  in  the 
pergola.  Half  way  down  the  path  he  turned. 

"Oh,  Christina,"  he  called,  "I  shouldn't  give  up  the 
play  if  I  were  you—get  that  fellow,  the  fairy's  father, 
for  your  Fool.  Ten  to  one  he'll  fall  for  it." 

"Thank  you,  but  I  shouldn't  think  of  asking  him," 
Christina  answered. 

She  watched  Dana  go  down  the  path  and  out  the 
gate. 


32  The    Golden   Answer 

She  was  unconscious  of  the  little  figure  at  her  side 
until  Harmony  touched  her  dress. 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Harmony,  looking  up  into  the 
angry  gray  eyes,  her  brown  ones  troubled.  "Amos 
never  lets  me  interrupt.  I  came  to  bring  you  my  fine." 

"Your  what?"  asked  Christina  vaguely. 

"My  fine,"  explained  Harmony  with  patience.  "I 
was  late.  Here  are  seven  pennies  out  of  Jumbo.  I 
will  bring  you  three  next  week.  Seven  and  three  make 
ten." 

"Oh — yes,  you  were  late.    Thank  you." 

She  took  the  seven  warm  pennies  and  put  them  into 
a  box  on  the  wicker  table. 

"I'll  bring  three  more  next  week,"  repeated  Har- 
mony. 

"You  needn't  do  that.  There  isn't  going  to  be  any 
play." 

At  that  Harmony's  brown  eyes  began  slowly  to  fill 
with  tears. 

"My — my  fairy  dress,"  she  mourned. 

"Yes,"  said  Christina  slowly,  turning  to  go  into  the 
house,  "there  will  be  no  fairy  raiment — now." 

When  Harmony  came  home  down  the  lane,  looking 
very  small  in  her  short  blue  dress  with  her  brown  curls 
bobbing  under  her  hat  as  she  walked,  Amos  was  wait- 
ing on  the  veranda  for  her.  He  smiled  and  held  out 
his  hand  to  the  child  he  called  his. 

"Well,  Peaseblossom?" 

He  was  happier  than  usual  to-night  to  have  the  soft, 
small  form  nestle  within  his  arm.  He  had  the  power, 
which  is  surely  one  of  the  qualities  of  genius,  of  feeling 
in  perfect  freshness  the  miracle  of  a  familiar  thing. 
It  often  came  upon  him  unexpectedly,  this  sense  of  the 
miracle  of  Harmony,  as  of  other  little  growing  things. 
No  petals  were  more  fragrant  and  fresh  than  her 


The   Golden   Answer  33 

cheeks,  no  autumn  leaves  browner  than  her  eyes.  Her 
plump  body,  which  he  had  often  seen  in  naked  silken 
loveliness,  might  have  been  a  baby  dryad  except  that 
nothing  could  be  lovelier  than  a  perfect  human  baby. 

"What's  the  matter,  dear?"  he  added. 

Harmony  told  him.  She  omitted  nothing,  not 
Jumbo,  or  the  pennies,  or  the  conversation  in  the  per- 
gola, which,  without  understanding,  she  reported  well 
enough  to  set  him  thinking.  He  looked  perplexed  over 
the  pennies  which  Christina  had  taken  and  put  into  her 
box,  and  grave  over  Edith's  teeth.  These  seemed  to  be 
especially  vivid  in  Harmony's  memory. 

He  asked  himself  why  in  the  world  was  this  a  matter 
for  his  perplexity  or  his  gravity.  Why  should  he, 
whose  future  was  all  laid  out  for  him  like  a  navigator's 
course,  even  to  the  far  off  harbor,  trouble  his  mind 
over  the  social  difficulties  of  a  girl  who  was  nothing  to 
him?  Why,  when  he  had  already  seen  things  he  did 
not  like  about  her — a  bit  of  arrogance,  selfishness,  a 
touch  of  cowardice — did  she  seem  to  him  so  lovely? 
Busy,  tired,  often  worried,  why  should  he  try  to  help 
her  ?  Dana  had  said  he  was  a  daring  man — there  was 
more  than  one  way  of  being  daring ! 

He  told  Harmony  not  to  feel  bad  about  her  fairy 
dress,  that  after  supper  he  would  do  something  about 
it.  When  Amos  said  that  about  a  situation,  older 
people  than  Harmony  cheered  up.  He  usually  did 
something  about  it,  efficaciously. 

After  supper  he  sat  down  at  his  blackened  old  desk, 
beside  which  the  painting  of  Harmony  hung,  and 
wrote  a  short  letter.  The  desk  was  a  Hepple- 
white  secretary  that  had  belonged  to  his  grandfather, 
the  one  of  the  Primrose  Path,  whom  he  had  no  reason 
to  love.  He  had  banished  the  portrait  of  him,  told 
Johanna  to  throw  it  away  or  sell  it  to  someone  in  need 


34  The   Golden   Answer 

of  an  ancestor,  because  he  was  tired  of  meeting  the 
flashing  eyes  and  facing  the  sneer  that  lurked  in  the 
corner  of  the  elder  Amos  Fortune's  handsome  mouth, 
a  sneer  for  the  luckless  younger  Amos  Fortune. 
The  adventurous,  reckless  face  of  the  portrait  was 
charming,  but  to  Amos  it  was  horrible.  He  was 
not  the  only  one  who  had  suffered  since  this  man 
had  gone  gayly  as  he  pleased.  He  could  not, 
however,  chop  up  the  Hepplewhite  desk,  because 
the  elder  Amos  had  built  a  secret  cabinet  for  his 
wine  in  it  and  written  his  love  letters  upon  it,  so  he 
sat  down  and  himself  wrote  a  polite  note  to  Christina 
Ware.  As  he  did  so  he  had  a  strong  feeling  of  starting 
on  a  swift  journey,  as  distinctly  setting  out  for  a  des- 
tination, as  when  one  goes  aboard  a  ship  that  plows 
on  her  charted  course,  or  while  on  a  train,  inexorably, 
to  meet  an  old  love. 

("My  dear  Amos,"  you  would  have  said  to  him  as 
he  stooped  earnestly  over  his  Hepplewhite  desk,  "if 
something  dramatic  happened  to  us  every  time  we  have 
the  sense  of  destiny,  life  would  be  too  dynamic  for 
endurance.") 

He  wrote  this  note  on  stationery  far  too  fine  for  his 
means,  his  one  fastidious  extravagance. 

Dear  Miss  Ware: 

Harmony  has  come  home  with  the  news  that  you 
are  about  to  give  up  the  play  you  have  worked  so  hard 
over.  That  is  too  bad !  I  feel  bound  in  honor  to  tell 
you  that  through  her  obedience  to  my  command  never 
to  interrupt,  she  has  heard  and  repeated  to  me  your 
reason  for  giving  up  the  undertaking.  That  is,  she 
has  told  me  that  Mr.  Dana  has  found  it  impossible  to 
continue  with  the  rehearsals.  Harmony  is  disappointed 
because  she  was  in  love  with  her  fairy  activities,  in- 


The   Golden  Answer  35 

eluding  the  dress  which  you  suggested.  Partly  on  this 
account,  but  chiefly  because  I  know  you  must  be  dis- 
appointed yourself  over  the  failure  of  your  picturesque 
and  lovely  plan,  I  am  about  to  do  a  bold  thing.  Once, 
long  ago,  when  I  was  in  college,  I  played  the  Fool's 
part.  (More  than  once!)  I  mean  I  did  literally  play 
this  Fool's  part.  And  since  I  have  a  queer,  absurd 
memory  for  poetry  that  makes  all  I  have  read  haunt 
me  forever,  I  can  recall  most  of  the  lines  now.  Do  you 
want  me  to  help  you  out  ?  No  doubt  others  would  be 
much  better  in  the  acting,  but  I  think  I  could  do  this 
for  you  with  a  minimum  of  labor  over  the  words.  I 
should  like  to  do  it  for  you ! 

Faithfully  yours, 

Amos  Fortune. 

He  added  a  postscript,  but,  being  the  younger  Amos 
and  not  the  elder,  ran  his  hands  through  his  hair  and 
tore  up  the  rapidly  written  addition  to  his  letter.  Then 
he  walked  sedately  to  the  corner  with  the  dignified  part 
of  it,  posted  it,  locked  up  the  house,  and  went  to  bed 
with  shining  eyes. 


CHAPTER  IV 

IT  was  the  morning  of  the  day  of  the  play  when  the 
strange-looking  letter  arrived  at  the  white  house  in  the 
lane.  Harmony  laid  it  at  Amos's  breakfast  plate,  look- 
ing curiously  at  the  cheap  paper  and  queer,  straggling 
hand,  that  seemed  to  have  miscalculated  the  distance 
on  the  envelope,  and,  having  begun  very  large,  ended 
in  a  cramped  corner  with  a  blot.  She  was  pouring  over 
the  address  with  her  finger  on  the  blot  when  Amos 
came  into  the  dining  room. 

"Look,"  she  said,  "what  a  funny  way  to  make  an 
'F' !" 

He  stopped  suddenly  with  an  exclamation  when  he 
saw  the  child  standing  over  that  dingy  letter,  which 
looked  out  of  place  on  their  white  cloth.  He  seemed 
about  to  snatch  it  from  her.  But  instead  he  took  it 
away  gently,  and  put  it,  unopened,  into  his  pocket. 

"Yes,  Harmony,"  he  said,  "but  you  know  some 
people  make  an  T"  that  way." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  replied  Harmony.  "I  have  to  know 
how  to  make  an  'F'  very  well,  don't  I,  because  it  begins 
my  name?" 

"Yes.    Now  eat  your  orange !" 

"What,"  said  Harmony,  after  some  reflection,  at- 
tacking her  oatmeal,  "does  the  name  of  Fortune 
mean  ?" 

"I  don't  believe  I  understand  you,"  Amos  replied. 
He  was  looking  grave  and  abstracted. 

"Well,"  continued  Harmony,  "Hilda's  name  is  the 
name  of  a  bird,  and  so  is  old  Mr.  Lark's,  and  Johanna's 

36 


The    Golden   Answer  37 

name  means  a  nice  color,  and  the  grocery  boy  is  named 
Fish.  What  does  our  name  mean?" 

Amos  was  silent. 

"Do  you  understand  me  now?"  inquired  Harmony. 

"Oh,  yes !"  he  hastened.  "It  doesn't  mean  anything 
of  that  sort,  dear.  Something  different.  I'm  afraid 
it  might  make  a  long  story!" 

"Will  you  ever  tell  it  to  me?" 

"Probably  not,"  answered  Amos  with  some  grim- 
ness. 

He  hurried  through  his  breakfast  and  rose  to  go, 
coming  around  the  table  to  kiss  Harmony. 

She  had  chatted  on  happily  and  he  had  made 
mechanical  answers.  Now  she  lifted  her  little  face,  all 
early  morning  purity  of  rosy  skin  and  brown  eyes. 
The  sun  streamed  in  upon  her  and  upon  the  simple, 
immaculate  table. 

"'Bye,"  she  said,  kissing  him  on  the  mouth.  "Going 
to  read  your  letter  on  the  train?" 

"Yes,"  Amos  replied,  reflecting  that  Harmony  never 
missed  anything ! 

During  these  weeks  of  Harmony's  rehearsals  and 
the  last  two  days  when  he  himself  had  been  part  of  the 
friendly  rivalry  and  gayety  which  made  the  outdoor 
play  like  one  big  house  party,  Amos  had  met  many 
people  in  the  town  whom  he  had  never  known  before. 
He  had  until  now  lived  in  Bramford  without  being  of 
it,  having  come  there  because  Harmony  must  have 
space  to  play  in  and  because  he  himself  needed  space. 
The  friend  of  Christina  Ware's  whom  he  liked  best 
was  Charles  Mo  watt  Brent,  the  rich  young  man  who 
was  putting  up  the  money  for  the  play,  which  was 
for  the  benefit  of  the  hospital,  and  was  himself  cast  for 
the  part  of  hero.  "C  M.,"  as  his  friends  called  him, 
did  many  good  things  with  his  money.  It  was  he  who 


38  The    Golden   Answer 

supported  the  Children's  Home,  the  Old  Ladies'  Home, 
and  the  Hospital.  A  few  people  knew  that  he  had  en- 
dowed a  Refuge  for  Girls  in  New  York.  Amos  had 
heard  of  the  Refuge  and  he  liked  that  best  of  all.  Also, 
during  the  rehearsals,  Charles  Mowatt  Brent  and  Har- 
mony fell  in  love,  which  was  another  reason  for  liking 
him. 

C.  M.  was  a  large  blond  man  who  would  some  day 
look  even  more  like  a  grand  opera  tenor  than  at 
present.  He  kept  down  a  tendency  to  stoutness  by 
exercises  which  he  took,  as  he  often  said,  upon  arising 
and  going  to  bed.  In  fact  he  liked  to  tell  everybody 
about  these  exercises  and  talked  of  them  so  realistically 
that  you  felt  you  had  actually  seen  C.  M.  standing 
plump  and  satiny,  vigorously  kicking  with  a  pointed 
toe,  whirling  his  clubs  around  his  head,  breathing  deep 
with  an  exalted  and  triumphant  look.  Naturally  he 
was  glowing  and  hearty.  And  his  large  laugh  and 
friendly  blue  eyes  were  pledges  of  faith. 

What  had  drawn  C.  M.  and  Harmony  together  was 
his  difficulty  in  remembering  his  lines.  The  big  man 
was  ashamed  of  his  weakness  and  often  asked  the  little 
girl  with  the  companionable  brown  eyes  to  hear  him 
say  them  just  before  he  went  on.  After  the  first  week 
he  was  fined  every  day  for  forgetting.  Harmony 
thought  this  was  a  disgrace  as  well  as  an  extravagance, 
and  once,  on  a  day  when  Christina  had  been  severe, 
she  had  come  to  his  rescue.  It  was  during  the  scene 
when  the  fairies  surrounded  the  Hero.  Poor  C.  M. 
opened  his  mouth  and  no  words  came.  Looking  wild, 
he  opened  it  wider,  with  no  results,  when  the  small, 
brown-eyed  fairy  in  the  corner  suddenly  leaned  toward 
him  and  shrilled: 

"How  now,  friendly  elves,  what  do  you  here?" 

Charles  Brent  blushed,  repeated  the  words,  laughed 


The   Golden   Answer  39 

with  delighted  roars  at  the  fairy's  embarrassment,  and 
was  her  friend  forever. 

Amos  liked  Philip  Dana,  who  had  so  daringly  van- 
ished, the  least.  But  he  had  recognized  in  him  a  dis- 
agreeable charm.  He  knew  that  charm  had  held 
Christina,  and  that  Dana  knew  it !  For  once  the  Dis- 
creet Princess  had  fumbled. 

Christina's  play  was  to  be  out  of  doors  in  the 
evening.  The  date  had  been  set  because  of  a  full 
moon.  Amos  coming  from  town  early,  knew  that 
the  night  would  be  one  of  incomparable  midsummer 
beauty.  He  was  glad.  The  play  itself  did  not  seem  to 
him  important,  but  it  would  be  important  if  Harmony 
were  disappointed,  also  Christina  Ware. 

An  old  florist  of  Amos  Fortune's  recommendation, 
Truebee  Lark  by  name,  had  transformed  the  lawn  of 
the  Hoyle  house  into  a  bower.  His  trailing  ivies,  his 
blossoming  shrubs,  tall  feathery  ferns  and  shining 
palms  made  a  fit  rendezvous  for  fairies. 

This  Arcadian  spot  began  to  be  haunted  early  in  the 
evening  by  extraordinary  characters.  First  of  all, 
Charles  Brent,  very  early,  very  breathless,  so  pink  that 
he  needed  only  to  have  his  eyebrows  darkened,  and 
fitting  somewhat  creakingly  into  his  tight  costume, 
which  showed  his  muscles  to  excellent  advantage.  Then 
the  Willard  girls,  gorgeous  in  court  costumes,  anxious 
over  their  lines,  and  insistent  as  to  entirely  too  much 
rouge  because  they  "felt  dreadfully  pale."  Young 
Toynbee  in  grass-green  and  carrying  a  long  lance,  in- 
articulate and  frozen  with  horror  because  he  had  been 
told  at  the  last  minute  that  he  had  to  say  four  words. 
They  were :  "My  lord — the  Queen !"  Other  distraught 
lords  and  meticulous  ladies  turned  out  by  the  same 
costumer  from  New  York.  And  a  cloud  of  fairies,  a 
gray-green  cloud,  shot  with  a  shaft  of  moonlight  here 


4O  The   Golden   Answer 

and  there  when  a  slim  child  stepped  out  in  glistening 
silver. 

Amos  Fortune  threaded  his  way  through  this  varie- 
gated throng,  dressed  in  motley.  One  leg  was  blue,  the 
other  yellow.  Upon  his  head,  above  his  jingling  cap, 
nodded  a  red  cockscomb.  He  carried  a  gay  rattling 
bauble,  and  fastened  to  a  rear  point  of  his  yellow-lined 
blue  tunic  was  a  sheep's  bell,  clanking.  He  was  fresh 
from  the  make-up  man,  and  the  vivid  color,  the  accen- 
tuated brows  and  jocose  lines  were  becoming  to  his 
thin  face.  He  was  humming  to  himself  and  now  and 
then  falling  unconsciously  into  a  light  dance  step.  And 
he  looked  over  the  heads  of  most  people  in  search  of 
someone. 

With  the  Fool's  costume  he  had  put  on  youth.  He 
felt  an  absurd  lightness  in  his  heels,  and  a  heady  joy 
in  his  brain — an  exhilarated  delight  in  warm  air  and 
color,  gay  voices,  and  a  purple  sky  where  hung  the 
round  moon.  He  was  not  Amos  Fortune  who  lived 
down  a  crooked  lane,  certainly  not  Amos  Fortune  of 
the  South  Sea  House,  not  even  "Jeremy  Pride";  he 
was  a  man  who  lived  a  thousand  years  ago  and  a 
thousand  years  hence,  who  dared  and  reveled  and  loved 
in  lands  of  flame  and  turquoise  and  saw  all  things  as 
they  are,  and  became  the  author  of  "Avalon." 

He  came  upon  Christina  Ware  standing  by  a  thicket 
of  Lombardy  poplars  banked  with  ferns.  The  dark 
trees  shot  up  mysteriously  into  the  moonlight,  as  if 
they  guarded  the  secrets  of  the  Villa  d'Este.  Chris- 
tina wore  a  dress  of  white  organdie,  simply  made,  to 
suit  her  many  duties.  Her  hair,  gold-banded  above  it, 
was  silhouetted  against  the  dark  green  of  the  poplars. 
Her  eyes  shone  with  excitement.  She  had  seen  Amos 
coming  to  her,  and  had  been  startled.  When  he 
stopped  before  her  she  said: 


The   Golden  Answer  41 

"Oh,  I  didn't  know  you  would  look  like  that!" 

"Isn't  it  right?" 

"Of  course." 

"Then  what  do  you  mean?"  he  demanded. 

"Nothing."  She  smiled  at  him.  She  did  not  know 
what  she  meant,  in  terms  of  allusion,  being  astonish- 
ingly and  correctly  ignorant,  but  she  had  caught  some- 
thing like  a  hint  of  the  reincarnation  of  all  kingly 
jesters,  divine  sport  of  vapid  princes  forever.  Yet — 
"It's  nearly  time  to  begin,"  was  all  she  said. 

"You're  not  worrying,  are  you,  about  my  part?"  he 
asked.  "Don't.  I  sha'n't  forget.  I  shall  know  what  to 
do.  All  the  poetry  in  the  world  is  running  off  my 
tongue  to-night!  I'm  conscious  of  everything,  from 
the  flowers  in  that  bridal  wreath  to  the  points  of  the 
stars  and  your  eyelashes.  Didn't  you  ever  feel  like  that 
— more  than  alive,  almost  omniscient?" 

Christina  shook  her  head. 

"It's  a  little  dangerous,"  he  laughed,  "unless  it's — 
benignant.  It  means  to-night  that  I  can  either  be  a 
fool  or  ...  do  yards  of  'Avalon' !" 

"What  is  'Avalon'  ?"  asked  Christina,  looking  up  at 
the  red  cock's  comb. 

"Some  day  you'll  know,"  he  told  her,  and  believed 
it. 

Christina  brought  her  eyes  to  meet  his,  while  a  soft 
breath  of  midsummer  wind  stirred  her  white  dress  and 
caused  the  high  tops  of  the  poplars  to  signal  secretly. 

"You  sound  very  metaphorical  and  prophetic!"  she 
told  him.  "I'm  not  used  to  your  language." 

"You  mustn't  mind  me  to-night,"  he  smiled  sincere 
apology.  "Your  motley  has  affected  my  head  as  well 
as  my  heels.  I'm  likely  to  say  anything !  I  should  like 
to  dance  a  mile  down  a  moonlit  road,  but  I  should  want 
a  'companion  of  a  mile'." 


42  The   Golden   Answer 

"A  mile  would  be  too  far!"  said  Christina  hastily. 
She  turned  from  him  and  with  a  little  wave  of  her 
hand  vanished  behind  the  poplar.  Amos  looked  up  at 
its  top,  solemnly  sentinel  against  the  stars.  "  'A  com- 
panion of  a  mile' !"  he  laughed. 

Everyone  said  that  it  was  a  good  play.  Charles 
Mowatt  Brent  did  not  forget  his  part,  although  there 
were  some  who  said  they  heard  him  prompted.  The 
fact  was  that  he  paused  only  for  effect,  and  knew  per- 
fectly well  what  was  coming  next:  but  the  prompter, 
aware  of  his  weakness,  became  panicky  and  gave  him 
his  lines.  C.  M.  was  injured  at  the  suspicion  indicated. 
Young  Toynbee  was  an  indefatigable  herald.  He 
managed  to  get  out  two  words  of  his  four.  His  only 
other  mistake  went  unnoticed,  though  it  sent  a  cold 
chill  down  Christina's  spine  for  fear  the  audience 
would  laugh.  In  helping  lay  the  rural  board  for  a 
feast  in  the  forest  he  moved  all  the  tree  stumps  up  to 
the  table,  uprooting  them  with  ease. 

But  everyone  said  that  the  fairies  and  the  Fool  made 
the  play.  The  fairies  were  riotous,  for  Amos  in  his 
scenes  with  them,  took  them  by  surprise  and  set  them 
into  bubbling  spontaneous  laughter  and  involuntary 
caperings — some  of  them  were  very  little — but  always 
brought  them  back  to  the  play  in  time,  so  that  they 
made  no  mistakes.  Their  small  sparkling  faces  turned 
to  him  like  flowers,  as  he  made  his  gay  sallies  amongst 
them  in  the  forest,  with  a  delicious  tinkling  of  morrice 
bells,  and  rattling  and  clanking.  There  was  something 
rare,  baffling,  tender,  and  eloquent  about  his  mirth  that 
night  that  made  sophisticated  people  laugh  and  sigh 
with  pleasure,  and  ask  who  in  the  world  he  was. 

Christina  knew  that  he  had  not  only  saved  her  play 
but  made  it  significant,  and  she  found  herself  wonder- 
ing, too,  who  in  the  world  he  was,  who  made  her  laugh 


The   Golden   Answer  43 

with  all  this  wild  fooling  and  forget  the  smart  left  by 
Philip  Dana.  It  seemed  as  if  he  must  be  something  to 
her.  Forgetting  Philip  Dana  made  her  kinder,  made 
her  show  an  indiscreet  dimple. 

When  she  went  to  Amos  Fortune  after  the  per- 
formance  to  thank  him,  she  had  to  show  her  gratitude. 
But  she  did  more.  She  was  sincere,  and  kind,  and 
asked  him,  specially,  to  come  to  the  house  for  a  little 
celebration  now  that  the  work  and  worry  were  over. 
Amos  thanked  her  and  went  to  find  Harmony  to  take 
her  too.  He  wanted  Harmony,  as  long  as  she  over- 
stepped bedtime  rules  at  all,  to  have  every  joy  there 
was  in  this  enchanted  night.  She  could  sleep  all  the 
next  day. 

They  went  together,  still  as  Fool  and  fairy,  into  the 
big  Hoyle  house,  to  find  Christina  and  her  aunt,  and 
say  with  everyone  else  how  fortunate  the  hospital  was 
to  have  this  money  taken  in  for  the  play.  All  the 
other  characters  were  there,  in  costume  too.  It  was 
gay  and  softly  lighted  and  warm  in  the  big  rooms. 
They  met  the  Woman  With  Rings  on  Her  Fingers. 
Christina  presented  them  with  a  queer  challenge  in  her 
eyes.  The  challenge  meant  that  she  knew  Mrs.  Hoyle 
would  say  to  the  next  comer:  "Dear  me,  who  has 
Christina  bowled  over  now?  The  child  is  un- 
scrupulous." Christina's  aunt  was  stiff  in  the  back  and 
held  her  head  high  to  avoid  a  calamity  resulting  from 
a  middle-aged  double  chin.  She  smiled  with  her  gums 
and  had  small,  sharp,  gray  eyes.  Many  rings  were  on 
her  fingers.  They  had  given  her  her  name  with  Amos 
and  Harmony  (but  she  did  not  tinkle  in  the  least 
when  she  walked). 

Amos  and  Harmony  had  the  place  of  honor,  beside 
Christina  on  a  davenport  under  a  rosy  light.  The  glow 
was  becoming  to  Christina;  her  eyes  were  soft  under 


44  The   Golden   Answer 

the  pretty  dark  brows.  Amos  sat  still,  sunk  back  in  the 
big  davenport,  so  that  his  bells  scarcely  jingled.  About 
them  people  passed  and  laughed  and  called  gay  non- 
sense, but  they  were  alone. 

Christina  turned  to  him,  almost  intimately,  smiling. 

"Do  you  still  want  to  dance  a  mile  down  a  lane  ?" 

"No,"  said  Amos. 

He  had  seen  something  a  moment  before  that,  un- 
reasonably, had  frightened  him — something  that  was 
coming  in  a  moment,  was  almost  there.  He  would  not 
have  been  frightened  if  it  had  happened  on  any  other 
night  but  this  exhilarated  one.  For  there  was  an  old 
score  wiped  out,  an  old  enemy  he  counted  vanquished, 
who  only  attacked  now  unexpectedly  from  the  rear. 
He  was  holding  Harmony's  hand  so  tightly  that  her 
fingers  were  red. 

"All  the  dance  is  out  of  me  now,"  he  added. 

"Not  if  you  had  a  companion — of  a  mile?" 

"Well,  that  might  make  a  difference,"  he  smiled  at 
her,  still  rigid. 

She  wondered  why  he  was  slowly  losing  all  his  color, 
except  the  spots  of  rouge  high  on  his  cheeks.  She 
turned  to  take  one  of  the  glasses  a  servant  was  offering 
on  a  small  tray. 

"You  make  me  feel,"  she  said,  "almost  as  if  I  could 
dance  with  you.  Don't  you  think  we  ought  to  drink 
to  that — mile?  Miles  are  so  short  that  they  ought  to 
be  gay!" 

He  turned  slowly,  as  if  with  an  effort,  and  stretched 
out  a  hand  toward  the  tray ;  the  bells  that  adorned  the 
Fool's  long  pointed  wrist  band  were  all  jingling  now! 
He  took  the  glass,  held  it  until  the  man  had  passed  on, 
and  then  set  it  untouched  on  a  little  table  beside  the 
davenport.  He  thought  he  saw  the  elder  Amos  For- 
tune's sneer. 


The   Golden   Answer  45 

"You  drink  to  it,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "it  will 
bring — better  luck!" 

Then  before  Christina,  in  her  astonishment,  knew 
what  had  happened,  with  a  jingle  and  a  clank  of  the 
sheep's  bell,  he  was  standing  up  before  her.  She  had 
time  to  wonder  that  he  should  all  at  once  look  aloof 
and  wistful,  and  to  feel  that  she  wished  he  were  not 
dressed  like  that — why  should  it  hurt  her  to  have  him 
dressed  as  a  fool? — before  he  was  saying: 

"You  have  been  very  kind,  but  I  must  go  home — 
with  my  little  girl." 

Then  he  was  gone,  with  Harmony.  She  heard  the 
sheep's  bell  in  the  little  conservatory  and  knew  that  he 
had  taken  the  shortest  way  out  of  the  house. 

Johanna,  who  had  come  home  from  the  play  when 
the  audience  dispersed,  was  waiting  up  to  put  Har- 
mony to  bed.  Amos  kissed  the  child  good-night 
quietly.  She  asked  him  if  he  were  tired,  and  why,  and 
he  said  yes,  very  tired,  because  the  Fool's  part  was  a 
hard  one.  But  when  she  had  gone  to  bed  and  to  sleep 
and  Johanna  had  climbed  the  back  stairs,  he  continued 
walking  up  and  down  the  library.  He  had  taken  off 
the  motley  and  put  on  an  old  shabby  brown  dressing 
gown.  Also  he  had  washed  off  the  paint,  which  had 
left  his  face  looking  so  white  and  drawn  as  to  make 
even  Harmony  comment  on  it.  He  smoked  rapidly 
one  cigarette  after  another,  and  finally,  with  a  queer 
smile  on  his  lips,  and  a  sparkle  in  his  eyes,  sat  down 
before  the  secretary — that  had  belonged  to  his  hard- 
drinking,  hard-living  grandfather.  Out  of  an  inner 
drawer  he  drew  a  crimson  portfolio  full  of  closely 
written  sheets  of  paper,  and  turning  to  the  part  where 
the  sheets  were  blank  began  to  write  fast.  He  also 
wrote  steadily.  The  sparkle  in  his  eyes  changed  to  a 
pleasant  glow.  They  looked  tired  but  no  longer 


46  The    Golden   Answer 

haunted.  The  remedy  had  begun  its  work.  The  color 
crept  into  his  face  again.  After  an  hour,  with  a  great 
sigh  of  relief  he  stretched  out  his  arms,  covered  his 
eyes  with  his  hands  for  a  while,  then  settled  down 
again  and  wrote,  more  slowly  now,  but  with  care  and 
intense  interest.  He  wrote  all  night. 

When  the  dawn  came  creeping  into  the  lane  feebly, 
like  the  ghost  of  an  old,  old  woman,  it  found  Amos 
Fortune  with  the  crimson  book  of  Avalon  closed  on 
the  secretary,  standing  by  the  window  watching  the 
light  come.  As  the  field  opposite  the  house  became 
faintly  pink  he  turned  away  from  the  window  to  go 
upstairs.  But  he  remembered  something.  When  he 
had  changed  his  clothes  the  night  before  he  had  locked 
the  letter  that  had  come  that  morning  into  a  drawer  of 
the  desk.  He  took  it  out  now,  and  sitting  down  be- 
fore the  desk  again,  he  studied  it  carefully,  leaning  his 
forehead  on  his  hand.  Then  he  consulted  his  check 
book,  where  the  numbers  never  on  any  account  went 
above  three  figures.  And  finally  he  wrote  a  check  for 
fifty  dollars  and  enclosed  it  in  the  following  note: 

"My  dear  Kit: 

"Here  is  the  best  I  can  do — except  salute  you! 
Never  mind  about  paying  back. 

"Amos." 

Then  he  carried  both  letters  upstairs,  going 
very  quietly  in  the  gray  light.  He  stopped  at  Har- 
mony's room  and  listened  to  her  breathing.  For  a 
moment  he  leaned  his  face  against  the  wall  outside  her 
door,  and  then,  going  into  his  own  room,  threw  him- 
self across  his  bed  and  slept  in  exhaustion. ' 


CHAPTER  V 

MR.  TRUEBEE  LARK'S  cottage  stood  at  the  farthest 
end  of  the  back  street  of  the  town  of  Bramford,  so  that 
it  really  was  not  in  town  at  all,  except  by  law  upon 
which  depend  taxes.  The  cottage  crowned  a  low  hill. 
Falling  away  from  it  on  either  side  were  meadows  that 
became,  in  the  lowlands,  marshes,  beautiful  beyond 
one's  common  thought  of  marshes,  and  inhabited  by 
birds  at  all  seasons  of  the  year.  Hilda  Martin  loved 
to  walk  the  winding  path  that  led  to  Truebee  Lark's 
house.  She  knew  well  all  the  changes  that  came  upon 
the  marshes.  In  the  spring  they  were  yellow  with 
cowslips,  pink  with  wild  azalea,  white  with  dogwood. 
In  the  autumn  they  burned  crimson  with  tangled 
sumac;  brown  rushes  and  silver  reeds  bent  to  the  last 
warm  winds.  From  depths  where  still  water  stood, 
always  the  color  of  the  sky,  came  soft,  clear  calls, 
drowsy  or  eager.  Above  the  marshes  the  cottage 
seemed  to  brood — a  silvery  structure  upon  which  Mr. 
Lark  had  trained  vines.  At  its  back  was  a  greenhouse 
where  he  worked,  raising  flowers  to  sell. 

Mr.  Truebee  Lark  himself  was  small  and  silvery. 
He  had  a  pale  eager  face  with  a  beak  nose,  bright  eyes, 
and  white  hair  frequently  tossed  about,  more  like  the 
mop  of  a  schoolboy  who  had  rebelled  against  the  bar- 
ber than  the  well-brushed  hair  of  an  old  man.  His 
mouth  was  gentle,  as  if  whatever  experiences  had 
lined  his  face  in  the  course  of  a  long  life  had  never 
really  touched  the  still  places  at  the  bottom  of  his  soul 
and  troubled  them.  He  usually  wore  an  old  gray  suit 

47 


48  The   Golden  Answer 

stained  with  mold  and  his  hands  were  gray  with  dried 
earth — shriveled  hands,  capable  of  gently  patting 
motions. 

On  the  Saturday  afternoon  after  Amos  had  acted  in 
Christina  Ware's  play,  Hilda  walked  out  to  Mr.  Lark's 
greenhouse  to  buy  her  mother  six  roses  for  Sunday. 
She  had  the  pretty  daughterly  habit  of  buying  flowers 
for  her  mother,  not  old  ladyish  plants  that  would 
bloom  a  month,  but  cut  flowers  of  perishable  beauty, 
such  as  a  lover  might  give.  She  knew  that  in  her 
mother's  girlhood  there  had  been  a  succession  of 
frilled  bouquets,  and  she  liked  to  plan  so  that  her  old 
age  was  not  without  the  homage  of  flowers.  It  some- 
times occurred  to  Hilda  that  it  would  be  pleasant  if 
someone  should  send  flowers  to  her.  She  liked  pretty 
things,  and  fun.  She  managed  to  have  both.  But 
sometimes  she  was  startled  to  discover,  on  taking  an 
inventory  of  her  pleasures,  that  she  paid  for  them  all 
out  of  her  own  shabby  purse.  At  such  times  she  felt 
that  it  would  be  immeasurably  thrilling  if  someone 
were  to  spend  thought,  time,  and  money  on  giving  her 
pleasure.  She  knew  that  it  was  done!  But  it  was 
unimaginable,  applied  personally.  She  felt  that  it 
would  be  miraculous  if  someone  should  send  her  rare 
lavish  flowers  that  cost  more  than  he  could  afford. 
Not  often — Hilda  respected  money  because  she  earned 
it — but  once  or  twice. 

She  had  earned  money  ever  since  she  was  seventeen, 
when  her  father's  illness  had  made  his  employment 
spasmodic.  They  had  moved  about  a  great  deal  from 
one  city  to  another  because  he  was  always,  after  a 
period  of  enforced  idleness,  finding  a  job  he  thought 
he  would  be  able  to  stand  and  then,  after  a  few  months, 
having  to  give  it  up.  He  had  been  an  engineer  who 
had  helped  to  build  bridges  among  the  mountains  and 


The   Golden   Answer  49 

been  permanently  weakened  by  exposure,  which  is  a 
form  of  injury  for  which,  unfortunately,  damages  are 
not  paid.  So  Hilda,  when  he  grew  worse,  had  left 
school,  taken  a  business  course,  and  gone  to  work. 
The  engineer  had  finally  built  out  of  pain  and  patience 
his  last  bridge  across  the  last  deep  purple  valley. 
Hilda  had  been  glad  for  him.  She  believed  with  sim- 
plicity that  he  had  found  beyond  the  valley  a  high 
place,  even  above  his  mountains. 

As  she  took  the  path  through  the  marshes  on  her 
way  to  Truebee  Lark's  she  was  thinking  of  him  and 
another  man  who  had  spoken  of  the  fine  daring  of  the 
Bridge  that  flung  itself  across  the  river  above  the 
South  Sea  House.  She  found  Truebee  potting  prim- 
roses in  the  workshop,  out  of  which  the  greenhouse 
opened.  He  was  glad  to  see  her,  for  they  were  friends. 

"You  must  have  been  having  pretty  thoughts,"  he 
told  her,  his  hands  never  ceasing  their  deft  patting 
motions,  his  eyes  beaming  at  her  over  crooked  spec- 
tacles with  rims  of  blackened  steel.  "Last  month  I 
had  some  tulips  just  the  color  of  your  cheeks,  my  dear, 
and  they  had  green  dresses  like  yours." 

"My  thoughts  were  quite  usual,"  evaded  Hilda, 
smiling.  "I  was  wondering  how  much  I  could  spend 
on  Mother  this  week.  Have  you  the  red  roses  you 
thought  would  be  just  coming  along? 

"Wait  till  you  see  them!  They'll  hearten  her  up. 
Come  and  look." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  greenhouse,  where  the  warm 
perfume-laden  air  was  tropically  heavy.  It  seemed  to 
have  drawn  the  bloom  all  out  of  Truebee  Lark,  trans- 
muting it  into  his  flowers  and  causing  them  to  flourish 
in  lavish  color  and  fragrance,  being  what  he  could 
not  appear  to  be,  but  was.  This  transmutation  had 
left  him  white  and  frail  looking  but  content  to  tend  the 


50  The    Golden   Answer 

blossoms  of  his  spirit  Such  a  thought  flashed  through 
Hilda's  mind  as  she  watched  his  passing  down  the 
aisles  of  his  greenhouse,  which  was  like  walking  up  a 
rainbow. 

"There  they  are !"  he  exhibited  proudly. 

A  corner  of  the  greenhouse  was  devoted  to  a  lusty 
and  fragrant  red  rose,  which  now  was  bursting  into 
glowing  buds.  Truebee  glowed  too,  worshiping 
them. 

"Father  used  to  bring  her  red  roses,  whenever  he 
could,"  said  Hilda  gravely.  "I'll  take  six,  Mr.  Lark. 
She'll  like  them." 

"Of  course  she  will,"  said  the  florist,  cutting  eight 
long-stemmed  buds. 

"How  is  Miss  Lark?"  Hilda  asked,  pretending  not 
to  see  that  there  were  eight  roses,  knowing  from  ex- 
perience how  embarrassed  he  would  be. 

"Zinnia  is  well,"  said  Truebee,  "but  just  as  sot.  She 
don't  change  much.  I've  concluded  she  never  will 
come  out  here  and  live  with  me.  It  ain't  hardly  decent 
for  twins  to  live  apart,  no  more  than  for  man  and 
wife,  but  she's  got  that  notion  in  her  head  about  ships' 
bells  and — she  certainly  is  sot.  I  can't  get  it  out." 

"And  of  course,"  Hilda  laughed,  "you  couldn't  leave 
the  marshes,  Mr.  Lark,  or  your  flowers,  and  go  to  live 
with  her!" 

Mr.  Lark  shook  his  head  with  some  sadness. 

"I've  got  to  have  flowers  and  she's  got  to  have  ship's 
bells — and  the  like — that's  the  size  of  it,  my  dear — twin 
or  no  twin." 

The  little  man  went  on  pottering  about,  his  eyes 
darting  among  the  tall  plants,  seeing  to  a  root  here  and 
a  leaf  there.  Then  he  wheeled  around  at  Hilda,  who 
stood  smiling  absently  at  the  riot  of  color,  holding  her 
red  roses.  Truebee  thought,  and  rightly,  that  she 


The    Golden   Answer  51 

looked  very  sweet  in  her  thin  green  dress  with  its  cool, 
crisp  white  collar  and  cuffs.  A  dark  green  hat  with 
a  white  lawn  bow  drooped  its  brim  over  her  hair. 

"There  is  Zinnia,"  Truebee  said  earnestly,  as  if 
Zinnia  were  present  to  be  exhibited  as  an  awful  ex- 
ample, "getting  more  and  more  sot  and  queer  because 
she  lives  alone — not  to  mention  me!  Of  course  she 
could  live  with  me  but  she  don't  like  the  place  I  live  in, 
hates  the  bugs  and  grasshoppers,  et  cetera.  But  if  she 
had  a  husband  she'd  live  where  he  did,  and  that's  all 
there  would  be  to  it.  She  ought  to  have  got  married, 
but  she  didn't.  She  had  false  standards,  Zinnia  had, 
but  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  It's  done  with  now. 
I  look  around  and  I  see  plenty  of  young  ladies  making 
the  same  mistake  Zinnia  did.  I  ain't  asking  the  reason. 
But  I'm  saying  it  don't  pay.  The  day  comes  when 
you're  old,  and  then  if  your  heart  ain't  taken  up  with 
little  children  it's  too  sot  on  things,  like  Zinnia's  and 
mine." 

Hilda  put  her  hand  on  Mr.  Lark's  old  gray  sleeve. 

"See  these  sweet  peas,"  he  went  on,  breaking  off  a 
few  crisp  stems  topped  with  the  palest  pink  blossoms, 
"they  always  make  me  think  of  babies — just  the  color, 
ain't  they,  of  their  curled  up  hands  and  feet  and  their 
cheeks  after  a  nap?" 

"Yes,"  Hilda  whispered. 

"I  want  you  to  marry  and  have  some  babies,  my 
dear,"  dared  Truebee  Lark  suddenly. 

The  greenhouse  was  silent;  the  sweet  breath  of  it 
enfolded  Hilda  deliciously  while  she  gave  herself  up 
for  an  instant  to  an  exquisite  thought.  In  that  throb- 
bing silence  she  could  feel,  almost  hear,  the  plants  grow 
with  a  soft  rush  and  humming  that  meant  unfolding 
life. 

"If  I  were  to  marry,"  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  old 


52  The    Golden   Answer 

man's  and  began  again,  "if  I  were  to  marry  a  poor 
man — I  should  have  to  keep  on  working — there's 
Mother — but — if  I  loved  a  man  I  should  want  to — 
work  for  him." 

Then  her  face  flamed  because  of  the  unasked 
thought. 

She  looked  up  and  saw  Amos  Fortune  standing  in 
the  doorway  of  the  greenhouse.  He  was  unusually 
alert  and  smiling  and  he  looked  very  tall  under  the 
low  glass  roof. 

"Hello,  Hilda  Martin,"  he  said,  advancing  toward 
her  down  the  little  wooden  walk  between  the  carna- 
tions and  the  sweet  peas.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  he 
were  coming  a  long  way.  "I'm  glad  you're  here.  I 
came  right  out,  Mr.  Lark,  since  the  shop  was  empty." 

"I  guess  you  know  the  way,"  said  Truebee.  "Now, 
what  can  I  do  for  you,  Mr.  Fortune?  Don't  tell  me 
it's  Sweetheart  Roses  for  the  little  girl,  because  I 
ain't  got  them  to-day." 

But  it  was  not  Sweetheart  Roses;  Amos  seemed  in 
no  hurry  to  reveal  his  errand.  And  Truebee  Lark 
rushed  at  another  subject,  happily  agitated. 

"I  guess  you  know,  Mr.  Fortune,  that  I  know  who 
it  was  sent  me  all  the  business  for  that  amatoor 
theatrical  play,  and  I  guess  you  know  I'm  grateful.  It 
was  the  biggest  order  I  ever  had.  They  always  send 
to  New  York  when  it's  a  real  swell  party." 

Amos  frowned  in  a  way  that  ought  to  have  been 
terrifying  and  put  his  hand  over  Truebee's  mouth. 

"You  didn't  know  I  had  gone  into  the  theatrical 
business,  did  you?"  he  asked  the  little  man.  "It  all 
began  with  a  fairy  dress  for  Harmony,  and  there's  no 
knowing  where  it  will  end.  But  Miss  Martin  didn't 
even  come  to  see  the  flowers,  much  less  Harmony  and 
me  in  a  real  play." 


The    Golden   Answer  53 

"But  I  did "  protested  Hilda. 

"We'll  talk  about  it  on  the  way  home.  Shall  we 
walk  back  together?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  in  a  low  voice.  "I  was — just 
going." 

Amos  followed  Truebee  Lark  to  the  corner  where 
the  roses  were,  whither  he  had  trotted. 

"Mr.  Lark "  he  looked  earnest  and  shy,  Hilda 

saw,  "I  want  some  flowers — to  carry  back  myself. 
Something — golden." 

"Roses?"  asked  Truebee. 

"I  think  so ;  yes,  I  should  say  roses.  .  .  .  Oh,  those ! 
That's  just  it — that's  the  color — a  wonderful  color." 

Truebee  remarked  with  enormous  satisfaction:  "The 
very  thing,  if  I  may  say  so." 

He  cut  a  great  sheaf  of  gorgeous  blossoms,  golden 
with  rosy  hearts,  and  packed  them  in  a  long  box. 

"There,"  he  nodded  over  the  knotting  of  the  cord, 
and,  with  what  he  thought  was  daring,  vulgar  finesse, 
winked  one  black  eye  at  Amos.  "Any  lady,"  he  spoke 
loudly,  "would  be  pleased  with  that  box  of  treasure. 
Talk  about  Spanish  gold!" 

After  he  had  paid  for  the  golden  roses  Amos  took 
the  box  under  his  arm,  and  with  complete  unselfcon- 
sciousness  turned  back  to  Hilda,  who  had  both  heard 
and  seen. 

"Shall  we  go  now?  Let  me  take  your  box  too. 
We'll  walk  along  the  marsh  road,"  he  said. 

They  did  walk  along  the  marsh  road,  and  the  late 
summer  afternoon  was  as  golden  as  the  imprisoned 
roses.  Hilda  was  intensely  conscious  of  both. 

She  liked  to  walk  beside  Amos,  though  she  did  not 
very  often — because  he  was  tall  and  took  long  steps, 
and  though  his  clothes  were  old  they  had  originally 
been  very  good.  Hilda  considered  him  distinguished 


54  The   Golden   Answer 

looking!  She  thought,  also,  that  he  had  a  fine  head, 
which  was  true,  and  never  forgot  to  be  proud  because 
she  knew  the  inside  of  it  so  well,  even  better  than  the 
outside.  Never  for  one  moment  did  she  forget  that 
this  man,  this  simple,  hard-working,  lovable  man,  was 
Jeremy  Pride,  who  could  write  all  manner  of  whim- 
sical, funny,  lovable  things  that  no  one  else  on  earth 
would  think  of. 

They  walked  slowly  through  the  sun-baked  marshes, 
stopping  to  identify  bird  voices.  Two  red-winged 
blackbirds  were  calling  to  each  other  in  rich  cadence, 
and  over  by  a  thicket  of  birches  a  wood  thrush  piped 
lyrically.  Once  an  oriole  winged  in  black  and  gold 
silence  across  their  path.  Trudging  by  his  side,  or, 
when  the  path  was  narrow,  behind  him,  so  that  he 
could  help  her  when  they  came  to  rough  or  steep  places, 
Hilda  wondered  of  what  he  was  thinking.  Presently, 
when  he  had  stopped  to  point  out  a  goldfinch,  he 
looked  down  at  her  with  gravity  in  his  eyes. 

"It's  a  shame  that  you  are  shut  away  from  all  this," 
he  said.  "You  ought  to  be  free.  Everyone  ought  to 
be  free." 

"Yes,"  Hilda  felt  her  heart  lift  because  he  cared 
that  she  was  not  free. 

They  came  to  the  brook  that  ran  at  the  bottom  of  a 
green  glen,  clearly  murmuring  over  the  pebbly  bottom. 
Here  Hilda  took  Amos's  offered  hand  and  let  him  pull 
her  strongly  up  the  farther  bank.  It  was  a  long, 
muscular  hand,  with  square-tipped  fingers,  like  one  she 
had  once  seen  modeled  in  plaster;  but  the  plaster  was 
stark  beauty  beside  this  warm,  living  hand  that  helped 
her.  She  had  never  taken  it  before.  They  did  not 
shake  hands  in  the  South  Sea  House.  All  at  once  she 
knew  that  nothing  would  ever  be  quite  the  same,  after 
she  had  taken  it. 


The   Golden   Answer  55 

They  stood  looking  back  over  the  marsh. 

"You  have  not  told  me,"  said  Hilda  slowly,  "what 
you  said  you  would — how  you  happened  to  be  in  the 
play." 

So  then  she  heard  the  simple,  seemingly  unimportant 
story  of  his  part  in  the  play  for  charity.  In  the  last 
few  days  he  had  been  so  rushed  he  had  not  had  time 
to  stop  and  tell  her,  and  she  had  not  seen  Harmony. 
However,  she  had  been  at  the  play,  for  Harmony's 
sake.  Neither  she  nor  her  mother  would  have  missed 
seeing  the  child  a  fairy.  She  had  kept  out  of  Amos's 
way  and  he  had  not  known  she  was  there.  Now  she 
heard  how  it  had  come  about  that  Amos,  too,  acted. 

"I  see.    You  offered  to  help  her.    That  was  kind." 

"I  wish  you  knew  her.  Anyone  would  want  to  help 
her." 

"I  have  seen  Miss  Ware.    She's  beautiful." 

"And  what  about  the  play  ?  I  haven't  asked  you  yet. 
Don't  you  think  you  should  have  rushed  up  to  me  at 
the  South  Sea  House  and  told  me  Harmony  was  the 
prettiest  fairy  and  I  the  most  foolish  Fool?" 

Hilda  laughed.  "I  suppose  I  should  have.  Perhaps 
I  was  afraid  to.  You  see,  I  was  never — sure — before 
that  you  were  like  that." 

"A  very  ambiguous  compliment.  You  ought  to  have 
been  sure,"  his  eyes  twinkled,  "because  you  know 
'Jeremy  Pride.'  Only  a  God's  fool  would  commit  the 
crimes  of  Jeremy.  Hilda  Martin,  how  has  it  come 
about  that  we  know  each  other  so  well  ?  You  guessed 
Jeremy,  though  I  would  have  told  you.  You  under- 
stand other  things.  We  don't  see  each  other  often. 
How  has  it  happened?" 

Hilda  looked  down  at  the  brook. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said. 

"I  think  I  know." 


56 

It  seemed  as  if  he  were  not  going  on  at  all.  Hilda 
waited  for  him  to  tell  that  reason.  The  brook  ran 
joyfully.  When  he  did  not  speak,  was  not  going  on 
apparently,  she  took  her  courage  and  held  it  up,  and 
asked  what  seemed  to  her  a  bold,  crude  question.  But 
— for  both  their  sakes — she  had  to  ask  it. 

"Why?"  asked  Hilda,  and  smiled. 

He  brought  his  eyes  back  from  gazing  far  over  the 
marsh.  And  she  suddenly  knew  that  in  the  pause  he 
had  thought  about  something  else.  He  smiled  in  re- 
turn. "Because  you  are  such  a  comforting  little  thing," 
he  said. 

Hilda  turned  away.  ...  As  they  left  the  marsh 
behind  them  she  thought  she  could  smell  the  hidden 
golden  roses. 

At  her  door  she  paused,  hesitated,  and  seeing  her 
mother  beckoning  at  the  window,  asked  him  in. 

Amos  had  been  in  Hilda's  house  before.  It  was  a 
small  brown  house  on  a  side  street,  but,  small  as  it  was, 
they  let  two  rooms  to  help  pay  the  rent.  Hilda  led  him 
now  into  the  parlor,  telling  him  gently  to  leave  his  box 
in  the  hall. 

The  room  was  flooded  with  western  sunlight  and 
was  itself  gay.  Hilda  had  hung  bright  chintz  at  the 
windows  and  there  were  several  cushions  of  the  same 
stuff  on  the  old  lounge,  at  the  foot  of  which  was  folded 
a  worn  dark-red  rug  that  used  to  cover  the  engineer 
when  he  lay  getting  rested  between  jobs.  There  were 
some  shabby  books,  steel  engravings,  and  in  the  center 
of  the  room  an  oval  table  whose  hard  marble  top  was 
covered  with  a  crimson  cloth.  A  lovely  old  faded 
flowered  carpet  was  on  the  floor.  This  threw  back  the 
yellow  sunlight  cheerfully. 

Mrs.  Martin  sat  by  one  window.  She  was  plump 
and  gray-haired  and  had  apparently  once  been  very 


The   Golden   Answer  57 

pretty.  Now  her  face  was  beginning  to  change  from 
the  wrinkles  of  middle  age  to  those  of  old  age.  Hilda 
was  not  like  her  mother.  She  was  an  uncanny  replica 
of  a  portrait  of  her  father  which  stood  on  the  book- 
case. 

Mrs.  Martin  liked  Amos  and  usually  gave  him 
doughnuts.  She  was  the  kind  of  comfortable  person 
who  was  always  saying  that  indigestible  things  would 
not  hurt  anybody.  They  were  made  of  good  material 
and  fried  in  good  fat,  or  baked  in  a  quick  oven,  so  that 
you  could  eat  all  you  wanted.  This  afternoon  she  fed 
him  ginger  cookies  and  gave  him  a  little  bag  of  them 
for  Harmony. 

Hilda,  after  taking  her  box  of  unopened  roses  into 
the  kitchen,  sat  quietly  on  the  couch,  and  with  a  queer 
expression  watched  her  mother.  Mrs.  Martin  was 
born  to  fuss  over  a  man,  and  there  never  yet  had  been 
one  who  did  not  like  it.  Amos  sat  by  the  open  window 
and  munched  the  ginger  cookies  and  entered  into  a  dis- 
cussion of  Harmony's  petticoats.  Hilda,  in  the  corner, 
curled  up  with  her  hand  against  her  father's  old  rug 
and  looked  at  Amos.  It  was  as  if  she  had  never  seen 
him  before,  in  spite  of  the  years  in  the  South  Sea 
House,  and  as  if  she  were  never  to  see  him  again.  .  .  . 
She  looked  at  every  inch  of  him,  his  feet — dusty;  his 
long  legs ;  his  broad,  thin  shoulders.  She  looked  at  his 
brown  hair  and  at  his  brown  eyes,  now  all  interest  and 
animation.  His  face  seemed  the  most  familiar  thing 
in  the  world. 

She  wondered  what  she  was  going  to  do  about  it. 

His  voice  and  her  mother's  went  on  by  the  window, 
conveying  no  meaning. 

The  next  thing  she  knew  he  was  rising  to  go,  and 
her  mother  was  saying: 

"Hilda  dear,  we  need  some  cold  boiled  ham  for 


58  The   Golden   Answer 

supper.  Can't  you  run  around  to  Bliss's  and  get 
it?" 

And  Amos  said:  "I'll  stop  and  get  some,  too." 

And  she  was  walking  up  the  street  with  him 
again.  .  .  . 

Then  suddenly,  swooping  down  on  them,  was  a  large 
blond  man,  inclined  to  a  hard  stoutness  and  with  a 
good-natured,  rosy  face,  who  hailed  Amos,  saying  the 
lost  was  found,  and  asking  him  where  he  had  been 
since  the  play.  And  Amos  presented  to  her  Charles 
Mowatt  Brent,  whom  she  knew  by  reputation. 

C.  M.'s  face  became  a  shade  pinker  as  he  swept  off 
his  hat  and  took  her  hand. 

"Delighted,  Miss  Martin,"  he  said  heartily,  and  then, 
getting  another  look  at  the  delicate,  colorless  face 
under  the  green  hat,  "perfectly  delighted — simply 
happy,  you  know !  Now,  don't  tell  me  you  are  going 
off  somewhere  where  I  can't  follow." 

"We  are  going  to  the  grocery  store,  Mr.  Brent," 
said  Hilda  demurely  to  the  rich  young  man,  "to  buy 
cold  boiled  ham  for  supper.  Would  you  like  to  come 
too?" 

"Would  I!"  exclaimed  C.  M.  with  fervor;  "it's  my 
favorite  diet,  Miss  Martin." 

So  all  three  went  into  the  shabby  corner  store,  and 
C.  M.  gave  his  opinion  of  the  hams  presented  for  their 
selection,  but  neither  Hilda  nor  Amos  bought  of  his 
choice,  which  was  stuck  with  cloves  and  altogether  too 
expensive. 

"Most  interesting,"  said  Charles  Mowatt  Brent, 
watching  slices  fall  from  the  carving  machine.  "This 
is  a  new  one  on  me." 

Amos  laughed,  looked  at  his  watch,  and,  saying  he 
had  to  hurry,  left  them  there.  And  Hilda,  who  had  a 
sane  sense  of  humor,  laughed  too,  and  nodded  good-by 


The   Golden   Answer  59 

to  him  and  his  long  box  of  roses.  You  simply  cannot 
be  tragic  in  a  corner  grocery!  You  wait  till  after- 
ward. Life  is  like  that. 

C.  M.  carried  her  parcel  for  her  along  the  golden 
street  of  early  evening.  So  it  happened  that  she  left 
the  house  with  Amos  and  his  roses,  and  returned  with 
this  gay  stout  man  who  had  tucked  under  his  arm  a 
more  prosaic  package,  a  whole-hearted,  kindly  man, 
who  presently  began  to  tell  her  about  some  wonderful 
exercises. 

"I  stand  on  one  foot,  and  thrust  the  other  out  at 
right  angles — toes  pointed ;  it  works,  Miss  Martin !" 

At  her  door — "Some  day/*  asked  C.  M.  anxiously, 
"when  it's  not  meal  time,  may  I  come  in?" 

"Yes,"  Hilda  told  him  gravely. 

"Simply  happy !"  said  Charles  Mowatt  Brent. 


SEVERAL  weeks  later  Hilda  Martin  and  her  mother 
sat  on  the  porch  of  their  old  brown  house  after  supper. 
Mrs.  Martin  was  knitting  a  sweater  but  Hilda  idled, 
her  book  in  her  lap.  It  was  too  dark  to  read,  and  not 
dark  enough  to  go  into  the  house  and  light  the  lamp. 
Besides,  the  evening  was  too  stiflingly  warm  for  a 
lamp,  especially  one  that  stood  on  a  crimson  cloth.  And 
Hilda  did  not  feel  like  reading.  Almost  all  fiction  was 
a  love  story.  Poems  were  worse ;  they  infuriated  her. 
She  sought  sanctuary  in  Bryce's  "American  Common- 
wealth," which  was  ponderous  after  a  day's  work. 
Being  filled  with  a  poison  now  scientifically  recognized 
and  labeled  with  the  familiar  word  Fatigue,  she  could 
not  bear  up  under  the  beauty  of  the  poetry ;  she  had  no 
energy  with  which  to  attack  the  "Commonwealth." 

Hilda  was  tired  because  she  had  not  had  a  vacation 
in  forty-nine  weeks.  After  another  six  days  of  im- 
prisonment in  the  South  Sea  House  she  and  her  mother 
were  going  away  for  her  two  weeks'  vacation.  They 
went  to  a  quiet  farm  in  Vermont.  Hilda  loved  the 
ocean,  but  after  forty-nine  weeks  of  roaring  back  and 
forth  in  a  tube  under  the  river  she  could  not  bear  the 
sea  because  it  made  such  a  noise !  One  year  when  they 
had  gone  to  it  they  had  been  obliged  to  fly  to  the  hills 
after  the  first  week  because  the  roar  of  the  breakers 
reminded  Hilda  of  the  subway. 

As  she  sat  on  the  porch  beside  her  mother,  and  set 
her  teeth  in  determination  not  to  ask  the  dear  thing  to 
move  off  a  squeaking  board  or  else  stop  rocking,  she 
saw,  instead  of  the  electric-lighted,  shabby  suburban 

60 


The   Golden   Answer  61 

street,  a  green,  Vermont  hillside.  There  was  a  walk 
over  that  hill  that  she  had  once  dared  to  dream  of 
showing  Amos  Fortune.  She  knew  he  would  like  it. 
He  would  stride  away  over  the  hill  with  his  head  flung 
back  and  Hilda  would  love  trying  to  keep  up  with  him. 
How  he  would  laugh  when  they  came  out  suddenly  on 
top  of  a  toy  town  and  almost  bumped  their  noses  on 
the  spire  of  the  church  steeple.  .  .  . 

The  "American  Commonwealth"  fell  to  the  floor,  and 
when  Hilda  rose  from  picking  it  up  she  saw  a  familiar 
figure  coming  down  the  street.  It  was  Mr.  Truebee 
Lark,  who  got  his  small  body  as  lightly  over  the  ground 
as  if  it  were  a  flower  on  a  stem  bending  in  the  sultry 
air.  He  came  up  the  Martins'  steps,  removing  his  sun- 
scorched  straw  hat  from  his  white  head. 

"Good  evening  to  you,  Mrs.  Martin,"  said  Truebee. 
"Such  a  hot  night — and  Zinnia  still  keeping  to  the  city ! 
I  often  wonder  how  she  stands  it.  And  little  Miss 
Hilda  here,  going  back  and  forth,  back  and  forth." 

"Now,"  smiled  Hilda,  glad  to  see  the  pale  little  man, 
who  carried  a  large  box,  "look  at  us  sitting  on  this 
nice  porch  on  a  quiet  street,  quite  the  pampered  upper 
classes." 

"I  do  wish,"  remarked  Mrs.  Martin,  hitching  her 
chair  off  the  squeaking  board  at  last,  "that  what  breeze 
there  is  was  from  the  other  direction.  Don't  you 
notice  the  Dump  to-night,  Hilda?" 

"Mother!  We  don't  speak  of  the  Dump  before 
company ;  we  pretend  it  isn't  there !  And  you  know  it 
has  been  investigated  and  declared  harmless — and  in- 
evitable." 

"A  harmless,  necessary  rat,"  remarked  Truebee, 
fanning  himself.  "I  saw  one!" 

"One !    There  are  hundreds  in  it,"  said  Hilda. 

"Well,  for  my  part,"  declared  Mrs.  Martin  crisply, 


62  The   Golden   Answer 

"I  don't  see  how  anything  that  smells  so  can  be  harm- 
less, and  I  don't  think  it's  necessary,  either;  there's 
always  the  ocean,  and  there's  fire.  The  Lord  gave  us 
both." 

"Perhaps,  sometime,"  said  Hilda,  "the  Dump  will 
be  all  burned  away!"  She  and  Amos  both  thought 
symbolically  of  the  great  desert  of  ashes  and  worse, 
just  outside  the  town.  To  most  people  it  was  just 
"The  Dump." 

Truebee  Lark  bent  over  the  box  he  had  brought  and 
placed  shyly  on  the  floor.  After  much  fumbling  he 
succeeded  in  opening  it. 

"I've  had  such  good  luck  with  my  roses,"  he  said, 
"that  I  wanted  you  and  Miss  Hilda  should  share  it. 
Now  here  are  some  I  know  Miss  Hilda  will  specially 
like ;  and  I  had  no  order  for  'em,  so  I  just  cut  a  lot  and 
brought  'em  along.  Maybe  they  aren't  much  of  a 
luxury  now-a-days  to  you,  my  dear,"  he  turned  to 
Hilda,  smiling.  "I've  sold  quite  a  lot  lately — to  a  cer- 
tain person — no  need  to  mention  names  I  guess — but  I 
argued  you  couldn't  have  too  many.  There !  Look  at 
that!  My,  my!  Ain't  they  beauties ?" 

He  shook  out  a  great  sheaf  of  golden  yellow  roses 
and  held  them  up  in  the  light  of  the  street  lamp.  The 
cool  fragrance  of  them  seemed  to  leap  out  and  envelop 
the  three  hot  and  tired  human  beings  with  a  healing 
touch  and  a  promise  that,  no  matter  what  weariness 
and  tragedy  must  come,  there  is  Beauty,  an  eternal 
comforter. 

Hilda  took  the  yellow  roses  in  her  arms.  She  could 
not  tell  Truebee  Lark  that  they  were  worse  than 
poetry ! 

The  little  man  looked  at  her,  and  Mrs.  Martin 
beamed. 

"What  a  blessed  relief  to  have  such  a  sweet  fra- 


The   Golden   Answer  63 

grance,  right  here  on  our  porch,  and  so  unexpected! 
Run  in,  Hilda  dear,  and  get  the  big  glass  jar  Father 
liked  to  have  the  flowers  in.  He  was  a  great  hand 
for  flowers,  as  you  know,  Mr.  Lark." 

"Well,  now,  I  think  that  was  nice,"  said  Mr.  Lark 
placidly. 

Returning  with  the  jar  of  water  Hilda  arranged  the 
roses  in  it  on  the  small  porch  table. 

"You  haven't  been  out  to  my  place,"  continued 
Truebee,  watching  the  girl's  hands  at  work  among  the 
leaves,  "since  that  day  you  and  Mr.  Fortune  was 
there."  The  hands  paused. 

"Why,  no,  I  haven't  been." 

"It  will  be  a  great  thing  for  him,  going  into  this 
here  new  company  that's  been  talked  up  lately,"  de- 
clared Truebee.  "I'm  glad  to  see  a  young  man  like  him 
get  on.  To  my  way  of  thinking,  banking  never  did 
seem  to  fit  him  very  well.  Now  real  estate  has  land  in 
it." 

Hilda  was  silent,  but  Mrs.  Martin  was  not. 

"What's  all  this?  Hilda,  why  didn't  you  tell  me? 
You've  never  said  a  word — what  company?  What 
land  in  it?  Well,  I  never!" 

"The  Atlantic  Seaboard  Realty  Company,  I  believe 
they're  calling  it,"  said  Truebee. 

"Where  did  you  hear  that  Mr.  Fortune  is  going  to 
leave  the  South — the  bank  ?"  asked  Hilda  gently. 

"Two  of  the  directors  of  the  new  company  was  out 
to  my  place  the  other  day  getting  flowers  for  their 
wives — violets  and  lilies.  Let  me  see,  I  think  it  was 
lilies — and  I  heard  them  talking  about  our  mutual 
friend.  I  just  listened  while  I  cut  their  flowers." 

"Then  it  can't  be  a — a  secret  any  more,"  Hilda  said, 
stooping  to  smell  the  roses.  "You  know,  Mother,  he's 
been  wanting  to  leave  for  some  time." 


64  The    Golden   Answer 

"I  declare !    Why  don't  you  tell  me  things  ?" 

"I  couldn't  tell  you  this,"  replied  Hilda,  too  proud 
not  to  be  frank,  "because  I  didn't  know  it." 

After  many  exclamations  of  surprise  that  he  should 
have  been  the  bearer  of  news  about  the  man  they  all 
admired,  and  prognostications,  on  Mr.  Lark's  part, 
of  Amos  Fortune's  future  success,  the  little  man  went 
home,  walking  up  the  street  slowly  so  as  not  to  get 
heated. 

Hilda  said  she  thought  she  would  go  to  bed,  and 
went  immediately  up  to  her  room,  the  one  that  was  too 
hot  in  the  summer  and  too  cold  in  the  winter  to  rent. 
She  kissed  her  mother  good-night  and  asked  her  to  put 
the  roses  down  cellar. 

An  hour  later  Mrs.  Martin  creaked  slowly  up  the 
stairs.  She  tiptoed  to  her  daughter's  door  and  paused 
timidly. 

"Hello,"  called  Hilda. 

"Do  you  think  you  can  go  to  sleep,  dear?"  the  older 
woman  asked.  "Let  Mother  drape  the  curtains 
back." 

"That's  fine,  thank  you.  Just  think,  a  week  from  to- 
night Mother — we'll  be  up  among  the  hills." 

"Yes,  Dearie.  I  thought  I  heard  you  talking  to 
yourself.  Do  you  think  you  ought  to?" 

"I  was  just  saying  Father's  poem." 

Mrs.  Martin  sat  down  heavily  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed. 

"Say  it  over  again." 

She  lay  slim  and  straight  in  bed  and  looked  at  the 
low  ceiling,  while  she  repeated  in  a  thin  voice  that 
gathered  courage: 

"  'Beyond  the  path  of  the  outmost  sun,  through  utter 
darkness  hurled, 


The   Golden   Answer  65 

Farther  than  ever  comet  flared  or  vagrant  Stardust 

swirled, 
Live  such  as  fought,  and  sailed,  and  ruled,  and  loved, 

and  made  our  world. 
And  ofttimes  cometh  our  wise  Lord  God,  master  of 

every  trade, 
And  tells  them  tales  of  his  daily  toil,  of  Edens  newly 

made, 
And  they  rise  to  their  feet  as  he  passes  by,  gentlemen 

unafraid.' " 

There  was  silence  between  the  two  women. 
"Now,  you'd  better  go  to  sleep,"  said  the  mother. 
"Yes,  I  will,"  promised  Hilda. 

Before  she  left  for  her  vacation  Amos  invited  Hilda 
to  lunch  with  him  at  Fraunce's  Tavern  in  Broad  Street. 
He  had  taken  her  to  the  famous  old  hostelry  once 
before  and  Hilda  loved  it,  especially  the  long,  and 
beautiful  room  upstairs  where  General  Washington 
gave  his  farewell  dinner  to  his  officers.  What  ghosts 
walked  there  on  moonless  nights  and  marveled  at  the 
young  republic!  To-day  she  and  Amos  ate  an  un- 
usually extravagant  and  gay  luncheon  in  the  smoky 
dining  room.  She  felt  that  he  had  brought  her  there 
for  a  purpose,  but  he  was  uncommunicative  over  the 
meal,  only  insisting  that  she  should  eat  substantial  food, 
and  telling  her  a  story  about  Captain  Joel  Mayo,  who 
had  been  in  the  South  Sea  House  that  morning. 

After  luncheon  they  went  upstairs  to  the  Washing- 
ton room  and  sat  together  in  one  of  the  wide  window 
seats.  They  were  the  only  persons  in  the  room. 

"I  may  not  see  Captain  Joel  again,"  he  said,  turning 
to  look  at  her.  "I  am  going  to  leave  the  South  Sea 
House." 


66  The   Golden  Answer; 

"Why?"  asked  Hilda. 

He  smiled  down  at  her. 

"Well,  Hilda  Martin,  I'll  tell  you.  Once  upon  a  time 
several  things  happened  to  me  that  killed  off  my  am- 
bition. They  should  not  have  killed  it,  but  they  did. 
Just  one  thing  didn't  die.  That's  cropped  out  lately, 
and  you  know  the  result,  just  a  little  success  and 
all  sorts  of  joy.  I  don't  really  think  I'm  fit  for  much 
else.  So  it  has  always  seemed  as  if  the  South  Sea 
House,  by  which  I  mean  whatever  gives  us  bread  and 
butter,  might  as  well  be  one  thing  as  another.  But  now 
— something  has — has  happened  to  make  me  ambitious 
in  another  way.  I  want  to  succeed  as  other  men  suc- 
ceed, financially.  I  threw  away  a  lot  of  money  once 
that  I'd  like  now !  Well,  I've  been  looking  around,  and 
I've  got  a  job  with  the  new  Atlantic  Seaboard  Realty 
Company.  I  sha'n't  get  rich  at  once  in  it,  but  there's 
a  good  chance  for  the  man  who  makes  good  and  also 
puts  up  some  money.  You  don't  think  I'm  too  old  to 
begin  again,  do  you?" 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Hilda  gently.  "But  what 
about  the  thing  that  didn't  die?" 

"That,"  replied  Amos,  looking  quickly  out  of  the 
window,  "will  have  to  be  worked  in  somehow,  as 
usual." 

"Do  you  want  to  tell  me  what  has  happened,  to  make 
you  ambitious?"  Hilda  asked  after  a  moment. 

He  got  up  and  walked  over  to  the  fireplace,  where  he 
stood  gazing  at  the  bronze  inscription  above  it  long 
enough  to  read  it  all,  but  his  eyes  did  not  move  from 
side  to  side.  Then  he  came  back  to  the  window  and 
looked  down  at  her.  In  her  pale  green  dress  on  the 
humid  day,  she  was  cool  and  fresh.  The  same  green 
hat  with  its  ever  crisp  organdie  bow  shaded  her  face. 

"I  don't  believe  I  can  tell  even  you — yet,"  he  said 


The   Golden   Answer  67 

slowly.  "You've  been  such  a  good  pal,  I'd  like  to. 
But  I'll  tell  you  one  thing :  you  are  the  only  person  who 
could  appreciate  it." 

"I  hope  you'll  get  whatever  you  want,"  Hilda 
answered.  "And  I'm  glad  you  want  things  badly 
again.  It's  much  more  healthy.  But  I  wish  you  would 
promise  me  something.  Will  you?" 

"If  I  can." 

"Don't  let  Jeremy  Pride  die.  Or— that  other  I 
know  you're  writing.  Keep  that,  whatever  happens." 

"Yes,  I  can  promise  that." 

"Don't  forget.  And  now,"  Hilda  smiled  up  at 
him,  "we'll  be  awfully  late  if  we  don't  get  back  to  the 
South  Sea  House.  When  do  you — leave  ?" 

"In  two  weeks.  I'll  be  gone  when  you  come  back 
from  your  vacation." 

The  next  day  he  took  her  bag  to  the  train,  and  saw 
her  off  for  the  Vermont  hills. 

She  walked  much  alone  on  the  hills,  where  no  sound 
rose  to  affront  the  sky — deeply  blue  for  all  those 
fourteen  precious  days.  She  grew  brown  and  sun- 
burned, and  her  eyes  became  steady,  deep  and  clear. 
And  she  came  back  to  the  city,  her  boyish  slenderness 
hardened,  her  head  up,  and  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
curving  humorously. 

The  Saturday  before  she  returned  Amos  had  left  the 
South  Sea  House  forever.  His  old  desk  was  to  stand 
unoccupied  for  a  week,  until  someone  else  was  found 
willing  to  bend  over  it  all  day.  It  was  always  harder 
to  fill  such  positions  in  the  summer,  and  no  one  had  as 
yet  been  securely  attached. 

On  the  night  of  her  first  day  of  work  after  her  vaca- 
tion Hilda  stayed  at  the  bank  late  trying  to  make  up, 
while  she  felt  energetic,  some  of  the  work  that  had 
accumulated  in  her  absence.  (That  was  the  worst  of 


68  The   Golden   Answer 

a  "vacation.")  When  she  had  at  last  made  an  im- 
pression upon  the  mass  of  work,  she  prepared  to  go. 
Remembering  how  careless  Amos  often  was  about 
little  things  she  went  over  and  sat  down  at  his  desk  to 
be  sure  that  he  had  cleared  it  of  all  personal  belongings. 
The  corners  of  her  mouth  curved  more  deeply  at  the 
thought  that  she  still  felt  she  must  look  out  for  him ! 
Well ! — this  one  more  time. 

Glancing  through  the  desk  she  found  it  almost  bare, 
just  a  paper  or  two,  blank,  and  some  dust.  She  wiped 
the  desk  carefully  with  a  cloth,  and  threw  away  the 
bits  of  paper.  She  held  her  head  high  and  hummed. 

In  the  far  corner  of  a  pigeonhole  was  a  crumpled 
fragment  of  a  letter  which  she  carefully  poked  out. 
She  glanced  at  it  before  throwing  it  away  and  sat 
frozen  in  her  chair.  She  had  only  wished  to  make 
sure  that  nothing  personal  should  go  into  the  waste 
basket,  not  to  spy  on  him — not  to  change  the  world! 
But  in  that  brief  glance  Hilda  read  all  of  the  few 
words  scrawled  on  the  scrap  of  grayish  paper.  Though 
the  writing  was  crude  and  blotted  the  words  were 
fearfully  legible. 

" — to  blame.  I  wouldn't  ask  for  money  if  it  wasn't 
for  Harmony. 

"Yours,  Kit." 

Before  the  abandoned  desk  that  had  yielded  up  in 
two  blotted  lines  so  violently  significant  a  communica- 
tion Hilda  sat  motionless,  though  bent  as  if  in  fear. 
She  looked  down  at  her  clasped  hands  and  wondered 
why  they  strained  so  tightly.  What  could  have  hap- 
pened to  the  world — the  decent,  wholesome  world, 
where  friends  were  trusted  and  love  was  given  and 
truth  was  passed? 


The    Golden   Answer  69 

As  she  sat  there,  all  unbidden  the  clear  eyes  of 
Amos  Fortune  rose  before  her.  She  saw  them  laugh- 
ing, thoughtful,  troubled,  fearless.  She  saw,  too,  for 
a  moment  with  marvelous  lifelikeness  their  occasional 
sudden  veiling,  as  of  a  curtain  drawn,  which  had 
always  puzzled  her,  and  then  a  queer,  worried,  almost 
shamed  look  she  had  once  surprised  in  them. 

Harmony's  eyes  were  that  same  brook  brown.  And 
their  quaint  thoughtfulness — 

Alone  in  the  big,  stifling,  empty  office,  with  the 
elevated  railway  trains  roaring  by  outside  where  the 
Bridge  leaped  over  the  turmoil  of  the  river,  Hilda 
remembered  everything  he  had  ever  said  to  her  about 
Harmony.  She  was  the  child  of  a  friend  who  was 
dead.  He  had  found  her  accidentally  and  taken  her  to 
bring  up,  because  he  considered  it  his  duty  to  keep  her 
away  from  her  mother's  family.  Harmony  had  not, 
even  from  before  her  birth,  had  a  square  deal,  he  said. 
He  was  trying  to  make  it  up  to  her. 

Harmony's  brown  curls  were  touched  with  gold. 
(Hilda  had  seen  his  hair  in  the  sunlight.)  Harmony's 
mouth  already  had  a  precocious,  tender  whimsicality 
and  a  growing  adverturesomeness,  almost  comical  in 
her  small  face,  but  familiar.  Amos  Fortune's  had  that 
same  buccaneering  curve  when  he  meant  to  go  out  and 
take  what  he  wanted,  and  did.  Harmony's  nose — both 
bold  and  sensitive;  her  chin — developing  a  sweet  re- 
liance. 

Harmony  looked  enough  like  Amos  Fortune  to  be 
his  child !  It  would  be  like  him — such  a  spiritual  para- 
dox would  be  exactly  like  him — to  find  her  and  take 
care  of  her. 

What  had  he  done?  "And  what  was  he  about 
to  do? 

Hilda  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  numb  from 


70  The    Golden   Answer 

their  long  clasping  of  each  other,  and  leaning  forward 
on  Amos  Fortune's  desk  began  to  cry.  She  could  not 
remember  when  she  had  cried  so.  Not,  certainly,  since 
she  had  been  a  young  girl.  Then  it  was  because  she 
had  lost  something,  she  could  not  now  remember  what, 
but  it  was  rare,  it  was  to  her  without  price. 

When  finally  the  tears  stopped,  her  head  became 
clearer  and  she  was  a  little  ashamed.  She  could  think. 

She  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out  and  up. 
The  sun,  low  and  ruddy,  was  casting  long  beams  across 
the  Bridge.  They  fell  on  something  toward  the  far 
end  of  it,  which  glistened,  and  dazzled  the  eyes.  The 
Bridge  seemed  to  lead  across  to  that. 

She  saw  him,  now,  as  he  had  helped  her,  imper- 
sonally, over  the  stepping  stones  of  that  brook  that 
gurgled  through  the  marshes.  His  eyes  had  been  not 
only  clear  and  true,  but  kind.  That  was  it — just  kind 
eyes,  when  he  had  said,  "It's  a  shame  that  you  are  shut 
away  from  all  this.  You  ought  to  be  free — everyone 
should  be  free." 

He  had  said  about  that  shining  Bridge  out  there: 
"Isn't  it  fine  and  daring?  It's  the  Bridge  Across. 
Everybody  builds  one — to  the  other  side,  across  the 
'tumult  and  the  shouting,'  and  the  great  running  tides. 
And  it's  the  craftsmanship  that  counts — the  symmetry 
and  strength  and  permanence." 

Could  a  man  whose  eyes  were  impersonally  kind, 
even  bitterly  concerned  for  someone  else's  comfort, 
for  the  joy  of  a  girl  whom  he  did  not  love,  a  man  who 
wanted  everyone  free  to  have  beauty  in  his  life,  be 
false  ?  Could  a  man  who  knew  how  hard  it  was  to  build 
a  strong  and  perfect  Bridge  deliberately  destroy,  not 
build? 

She  had  never  before  known  what  pain  was.  But 
out  of  this  anguish  at  last  came  something  bigger  than 


The   Golden   Answer  71 

the  pain,  like  a  tall  winged  figure  of  victory,  and  the 
name  of  the  winged  thing  was  Faith. 

Relief  and  happiness  flooded  Hilda's  heart.  She 
could  not  yet  understand  what  the  scrawled  words 
meant ;  but  she  believed  in  him.  She  believed  in  him ! 


CHAPTER  VII 

"ON  the  way  from  our  town  to  the  South  Sea 
House  Hilda  and  I  have  to  pass  the  Dump.  It  lies 
just  beyond  a  salt  stream  that  creeps  up  into  the  brick- 
pink  marshlands  from  the  Sound.  The  Dump  is  an 
enormous  deposit  of  refuse  of  all  kinds,  that  spreads 
out  in  high  dust-gray  ridges  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
along  the  railroad  tracks.  Here  lie  the  multiplied  relics 
of  human  existence  in  their  final  stages  before  dis- 
solution, and  the  strange  part  is  that  they  have  prob- 
ably lasted  longer  than  those  who  used  them.  Baby 
carriages,  bird  cages,  umbrellas,  old  mattresses,  cradles, 
broken  bottles,  the  shoes  from  tired  feet  that  have 
either  found  rest  or  learned  to  walk  in  different  ways, 
ashes  from  flaming  fires  long  burned  out.  Where  are 
the  babies  who  slept  in  those  broken  cradles?  Have 
they  grown  up  out  of  their  chubby  fairness  and  found 
the  world  a  hard,  lonely  place  ?  Or  are  they  men  who 
conquer,  unafraid  and  happy?  Perhaps  they  have 
fluttered  out,  as  the  birds  have  fluttered  from  the  cages. 
That  old  umbrella  no  doubt  sheltered  lovers,  or,  even 
more  divine,  was  shared  in  charity  with  an  outcast  one 
drenching  night.  Who  made  merry  over  the  shattered 
bottles,  and  lay  dying  on  the  beds?  Were  the  hands 
that  warmed  at  these  thousand  fires  ministering  or 
destructive?  Out  of  golden  life  here  lies  the  dross,  and 
rats  tunnel  through  it,  or  creep,  gray  and  horrid,  along 
the  ridges  at  nightfall.  And  in  this  last  state  of  dis- 

72 


The    Golden   Answer  73 

integrating  ugliness  the  dross  finds  its  way  to  the  sea, 
as  the  lives  it  was  part  of  found,  or  will  find,  their  way 
to  the  Sea  in  the  end. 

"Some  day  I'll  write  an  epic  of  the  Dump — in  prose ! 

"If  there  weren't  too  many  things  in  the  world  there 
would  not  be  so  many  in  the  Dump-!  Sometimes  I 
think  there  are  too  many  people.  They  have  bred 
until  they  swarm,  and  are  harmful  to  each  other.  One 
can  see  them  any  day  from  a  high  building  in  the  city, 
crawling  and  writhing  and  struggling  on  the  face  of 
the  earth.  There  are  so  many  that  to  live  they  must 
enter  into  bondage.  Instead  of  enjoying  the  gorgeous 
heritage  of  the  earth  they  must  sell  themselves,  in  some 
fashion,  or  starve.  Some,  in  exchange  for  food  or 
shelter,  are  chained  to  desks,  some  to  machines,  others 
to  counters,  in  dangerous  lofts,  in  dark  basements,  in 
places  too  hot  or  places  too  cold,  places  to  which  they, 
perforce,  hideously  travel  swirling  miles,  in  stolid, 
lurching  masses,  suffering  and  patient,  or  rendered 
ugly  by  the  indignities  of  promiscuous  contact,  packed 
together  and  roaring  through  tunnels  under  the  earth. 
Their  time,  which  is  their  life,  is  not  their  own,  except 
time  to  sleep  and  feed,  or  nervously  steal  from  their 
rest  period  cheap  gayety.  Compared  with  this  mole 
life  of  millions,  work  on  the  land  in  sunshine  and  fresh 
rain  is  sweet  labor.  But  the  land  will  not  support  them 
all. 

"(What  hurts,  in  this  ugly  confusion,  is  the  lack  of 
beauty  and  dignity.  This  hideous  thing,  this  milling 
of  masses  until  they  are  ugly,  is  not  'Art/  And  God, 
the  Creator,  is  the  great  Artist  also. 

"Sometimes  in  the  quiet  of  the  night,  if  the  wind  is 
from  the  south,  in  summer,  the  smell  of  the  Dump 
creeps  into  our  respectable  quarter  of  the  town.  And 
I  lie  in  bed  thinking  of  many  things,  and  remember  it 


74  The   Golden   Answer 

decaying  there,  and  the  rats  in  it.  I  think  of  the  things 
I  have  seen  in  my  life.  And  at  that  moment  I  do  not 
love  life.  The  odor,  slight  though  it  is,  smothers  me. 
I  feel  the  hot  breath  of  millions  sighing  before  a  new 
day. 

"But  the  moon  rides  free  in  high  heaven.  .  .  . 
Space  is  there.  Ordered  beauty  is  there,  eternal  and 
divine  harmony.  If  I  can  relate  myself  to  that,  can  do 
a  little  to  bring  beauty  into  this  confusion.  ...  If  I 
can  teach  Harmony  to  do  it.  ... 

"One  can  never  be  free — and  escape  the  Dump — 
and  have  the  fullness  of  life,  but  by  daring.  .  .  .  There 
were  gentlemen  adventurers  of  old.  Some  had  failed 
many  times.  They  set  their  faces  west.  They  took  up 
the  beautiful  hazard.  .  .  .  Beautiful,  indeed !  What  is 
that  about  'new  prows  to  the  old  Hesperides?'  I  must 
get  out  my  old  green  book," 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  summer  advanced  in  splendor.  All  the  Sundays 
were  fair.  And  on  one  of  these  Miss  Ware  invited 
Amos  Fortune  to  motor  with  her.  Harmony  was 
going,  anyway,  to  spend  the  day  with  Hilda,  who  had 
started  the  custom  of  an  occasional  holiday  or  Sunday 
visit  a  year  ago,  so  that  Amos  would  have  freedom  to 
be  Jeremy  Pride  without  neglecting  Harmony.  Now 
this  same  custom  left  him  free  to  motor  with  Christina 
Ware. 

When  he  reached  the  Hoyle  house  he  found  that 
they  two  only  were  to  go,  in  the  powerful  car  which 
Miss  Ware  drove  with  swift  skill.  He  sat  beside  her 
with  a  sense  of  companionship,  and  they  began  a  flight 
to  the  sea. 

Christina  was  crisp  and  beautiful  in  her  long  tan 
motoring  coat,  covering  a  glimpse  of  yellow,  and  her 
close  little  yellow  hat.  Her  gray  eyes  looked  steadily 
down  the  road  while  her  powerful,  silent  engine  ate 
the  miles ;  her  dim  color  was  heightened  by  the  summer 
wind.  You  would  have  said  that  her  eyes  saw  delight- 
ful, tender  wonders,  but  perhaps  they  saw  only  the 
road.  .  .  .  However,  when  she  turned  now  ind  then 
to  Amos  Fortune,  who  was  inclined  to  be  silent,  her 
lips  softened.  A  tiny,  puzzled  line  showed  above  her 
nose.  As  for  Amos,  he  sat  relaxed,  with  his  hat  off, 
his  fingers  loosely  interlaced,  and  allowed  himself  to 
be  borne  seaward.  His  eyes  often  sought  the  tops  of 
the  trees  under  which  they  flew,  or  sometimes  a  high 

75 


76  The   Golden   Answer 

white  cloud  that  never  came  any  nearer,  despite  their 
speed. 

This  was  the  first  time  they  had  been  alone  together 
since  the  night  of  the  play,  when  he  had  asked  her  to 
be  his  companion  of  a  mile,  and  later  so  abruptly  left 
her.  He  had  thought  since,  with  stale  weariness,  that 
he  owed  her  an  explanation  of  that  rude  leave-taking. 
But  on  reflection  it  had  seemed  to  him  to  be  so  clear 
that  any  mention  of  it  would  be  in  bad  taste.  She 
must  have  understood  and  been  disgusted.  But  what- 
ever she  had  thought,  she  had  invited  him  to  go  with 
her  to  the  sea.  He  could  not  interpret  this  invitation, 
unless  it  was  a  natural  reaction  after  the  going  of 
Philip  Dana,  and  her  desire  not  to  be  alone  with  her 
aunt,  or  with  the  Willard  girls.  That  brought  him 
face  to  face  with  the  fact  that  she  did  not  mind  being 
alone  with  him !  He  knew  that  this  was  the  truth.  He 
gave  her  profile  a  long  look.  She  turned,  and  they 
smiled  into  each  other's  eyes.  That  happened  twice, 
and  each  time  after  the  involuntary  smile,  a  queer 
alarm  leaped  into  Christina's  eyes.  She  grasped  her 
steering  wheel  nervously.  Her  eyes  stared  down  the 
road  with  a  plain  question  in  them:  "Where  am  I 
going  to-day?" 

In  the  early  afternoon,  having  passed  a  dozen  resorts 
with  glimpses  of  gay  groups  of  summer  colonists,  they 
came  to  a  shabby  village  which  had  been  left  to  itself, 
unsought  and  unspoiled.  Elms  met  over  its  one  long 
street.  Old  houses,  under  heavy  loads  of  wistaria  and 
woodbine,  fell  into  comfortable  dilapidation  in  the 
quiet  air.  One  road  led  from  the  shady  street  across 
open  sandy  plains  toward  an  indigo  sea.  Christina 
took  this  and  presently,  on  a  rise  of  ground  which 
overlooked  the  sand  dunes,  jagged  and  dauntless,  she 
stopped  the  car  before  several  small,  scattered  buildings. 


The   Golden   Answer  77 

Amos  saw  that  one  was  a  life-saving  station,  one  a  tiny 
church,  and  one,  the  nearest  and  coziest,  a  gray- 
shingled  cottage  under  a  glowing  rambler  and  with  an 
inn  sign  swinging  in  the  salt  breeze  which  read,  "The 
Sign  of  St.  Elmo's  Fire." 

Amos  turned  to  the  girl  beside  him.  She  gave  him  a 
questioning  glance,  almost  shy. 

"I  didn't  expect  such  luck  as  this,"  he  said,  adding 
piously,  "may  God  forgive  me!  ...  Why  did  you 
bring  me  here?" 

"Because  I  thought  you  would  like  it,"  Christina 
answered. 

"Do;y0Mlikeit?" 

"I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  know,"  she  said.  "Once 
we  took  this  road  by  mistake.  Everybody  was  angry 
because  we  thought  it  led  to  the  Sea  Lion  Inn,  and  as 
you  see,  it  doesn't.  I  started  to-day  for  the  Sea  Lion, 
and  then  I  remembered  this  place — so  different — and 
— I  thought  I  would  bring  you — here." 

Amos  helped  her  out  of  the  car,  and  stood  looking 
down  at  her  a  moment. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said,  "when  I  have  had  so  pretty 
a  compliment." 

She  looked  away.  "It  was  not  meant  for  a  compli- 
ment. ...  I  wanted  to  please  you." 

They  saw  an  old  Portuguese  couple  bowing  in  the 
doorway  of  the  tiny  inn,  and  entered. 

The  room  where  they  ate  faced  the  sea.  The  win- 
dows were  open  and  white  curtains  flapped  in  the 
breeze.  The  Portuguese  fisherman,  who  had  lost  a 
leg  in  a  wreck,  he  told  them,  and  wore  a  polished 
wooden  one  in  its  place,  served  them  with  fresh  fish 
in  inimitable  sauce,  and  crusty  bread,  and  lentil  salad. 

Then  they  were  left  alone  in  the  scrubbed,  bare 
room,  with  the  drone  of  surf  coming  up  to  them  from 


78  The   Golden   Answer 

behind  the  dunes,  and  the  flashing  blue  expanse  of 
water  unfolding  its  ancient  beauty  in  a  miracle  of  per- 
petuity ever  new. 

Christina  talked  lightly  at  first,  as  she  had  on  the 
drive  down,  except  during  their  intimate  silences.  But 
presently  she  fell  silent  again,  and  restless.  Also,  that 
alarm  lurked  in  her  eyes.  She  leaned  her  elbows  on 
the  table  and  stared  across  at  Amos  Fortune. 

"I  am  going  to  tell  you,"  she  said.  "I  think  you 
know,  but  I'm  going  to  have  the  satisfaction  of  telling 
you  myself.  ...  I  got  from  Philip  Dana  just  what 
I've  given  to  others — to  men — myself.  And  I  most 
awfully  gave  myself  away,  as  men  have  done  to  me,  to 
my  enjoyment.  I  don't  know  why  it  is  that  I  am  sure 
you  have  understood — seen  through  the  whole  thing; 
but  you  have,  haven't  you  ?  And  that  is  why  you  have 
been  so  kind  to  me!  I  can't  understand  that;  but  I 
have  seen  it  is  so." 

Amos  looked  at  the  white  hands  making  folds  in  the 
coarse  tablecloth.  He  knew  that  the  revelation  of  his 
own  weakness  was  the  cause  of  her  revelation,  and  that 
she  did  not  realize  it.  But  he  must  save  her  pride,  as 
his  had  not  always  been  saved  for  him.  His  instinct  to 
protect  her  again  leaped  up — to  protect  her  from  her 
own  words,  even  from  himself.  So  he  said,  while  he 
was  glad,  and  his  eyes  showed  it: 

"Now,  don't  call  me  kind !  It  sounds  like  an  adver- 
tisement for  a  reliable  old  dog:  Must  be  kind  with 
children,  and  a  good  protector  for  ladies." 

Christina  gave  in  and  laughed. 

"Well,  I've  told  you,"  she  said.  "You  are  a  strange 
man !  Have  things  your  own  way." 

So  he  did  have  things  his  own  way.  He  took  her 
down  on  the  deserted  beach  and  they  walked  together 
out  where  the  sand  was  hard.  Amos  gathered  delicate 


The   Golden   Answer  79 

pink  sea  moss  to  take  home  to  Harmony;  Johanna 
would  make  it  into  blancmange,  he  told  Christina,  and 
smiled  at  her  astonishment.  They  sat  on  the  sand 
together  and  listened  to  the  long  thunder  of  the  surf. 
A  liner  in  the  distance  plowed  swiftly  eastward.  She 
looked  so  near  one  imagined  the  beat  of  the  great 
engines. 

When  they  came  back  to  the  sign  of  St.  Elmo's  Fire 
they  saw  a  few  persons  going  into  the  gray  church. 

"Let's  go  in,  too,"  said  Amos.  "If  it's  a  funeral  we 
can  come  out  again." 

But  it  was  not  a  funeral ;  it  was  a  wedding. 

As  Amos  Fortune  and  Christina  slipped  into  a  back 
seat  the  church  with  its  rose-decked  altar  became  even 
quieter  than  the  road  had  been.  The  faint  rustle  of 
skirts  settled,  the  hum  of  a  bumblebee  in  the  vines 
about  the  open  windows,  and  the  fitful  swell  of  surf 
borne  on  the  light,  sweet  wind  were  the  only  sounds. 

"Shall  we  stay  ?"  he  bent  to  ask  her ;  and  she  nodded. 

There  was  no  music  at  this  country  wedding.  In  a 
moment  a  slender  girl  in  white  and  a  big  young  man 
took  their  places  in  silence  before  the  altar;  a  white- 
haired  minister  faced  them  with  a  book.  And  while 
the  bees  and  the  surf  droned  he  put  to  them  gentle, 
solemn  questions. 

"Wilt  thou  love  her  and  comfort  her,  honor  and 
keep  her?  .  .  ." 

"Wilt  thou  love,  honor  and  keep  him  in  sickness 
and  in  health?" 

"I  take  thee,  to  have  and  to  hold"  .  .  . 

Amos  Fortune  listened  to  their  shy  answers.  A  vast 
beauty  brooded  over  the  plain  scene,  which  was  an  in- 
finitesimal part  of  the  miracle  of  life  perpetuated  by 
love.  The  girl  and  the  boy  did  not  know  the  parts  they 
took  in  the  miracle  play ;  they  only  knew  their  moment 


8o  The   Golden   Answer 

was  high.  He  felt  their  lives  with  sudden  abundant 
understanding.  Flashingly  he  saw  the  girl's  babyhood 
and  slim  childhood  until  this  supreme  moment;  and 
the  young  man's  life,  also,  up  through  stout  uncon- 
scious boyhood,  the  struggle  of  the  half  child,  half 
man,  to  strong,  young,  steady  ripeness  when  love  came 
and  astonished  him.  If  they  did  not,  he,  Amos  For- 
tune, poignantly  knew  their  relation  to  the  miracle 
play.  To  him  this  was  the  first  wedding,  this  was  all 
marriage,  and  on  the  ceremonial  chant  of  the  breakers 
breathed  the  Voice  of  Eden. 

He  felt  Christina  beside  him,  close,  and  beautiful. 
While  the  minister  prayed  over  those  now  man  and 
wife,  he  took  up  the  silk  scarf  she  had  laid  aside  and 
put  it  around  her  shoulders. 

Although  she  did  not  need  it,  and  he  had  draped  it 
awkwardly  over  her  motor  coat,  she  left  it  there. 

On  a  rainy  evening — in  that  same  summer  of  splen- 
dor— Amos  sat  on  his  narrow  veranda  after  Harmony 
had  gone  to  bed.  The  fragrance  of  the  wet  garden  and 
of  the  dark  field  across  the  road  rose  about  him.  He 
was  lonely. 

He  never  yet  had  sought  Christina  Ware  without 
a  pretext.  If  he  went  to  her  this  night  it  would  be 
because  he  must  go.  Against  the  dark  background  of 
the  rain  he  could  see  her  questioning  eyes  with  all  the 
gamut  of  their  inscrutable  defiance,  their  touch  of  cool 
calculation,  their  trusting  appeal,  their  raillery,  their 
strange  fear,  and  one  flickering  moment  of  confes- 
sion. .  .  . 

He  hurried  up  the  muddy  lane,  and  found  her  at 
home. 

Christina  did  not  know  it,  but  he  was  tired  out.  He 
had  worked  late  under  pressure,  on  horrible  figures 


The   Golden  Answer  81 

that  would  not  go  straight,  and  had  lost  his  usual  train, 
coming  home  with  a  crowd,  which  had  obliged  him  to 
stand  all  the  way.  When  he  reached  home  Johanna 
had  a  long  tale  of  defective  drain  pipes  and  a  plumber 
who  could  not  come  until  morning,  so  that  he  had  spent 
a  dreadful  hour  in  the  cellar  underneath  the  kitchen 
sink.  But  he  mended  the  drain ! 

Not  knowing  any  of  this,  Christina  wondered  at  his 
silence.  For  he  merely  presented  himself.  She  saw 
the  outer  things — that  his  shoes  were  muddy  and  his 
coat  wrinkled  from  having  been  wet  and  dried  un- 
pressed.  Her  eyes  grew  troubled,  not  because  of  what 
these  things  indicated  for  him  but  because  they  did 
not  repel  her.  She  could  not  imagine  why  she  bothered 
with  this  compelling  person  of  the  name  of  Fortune, 
but  once  she  had  begun  bothering  with  him  she  went 
right  on!  She  made  him — splashed  from  his  muddy 
lane — comfortable  and  welcome  in  the  Hoyle  drawing- 
room,  her  worry  being  that  she  was  glad  to  see  him. 
And  when  he  seemed  disinclined  to  talk  she  went  to 
the  piano. 

To  Amos,  who  had  heard  little  music  lately,  and 
had  come  to  her  from  his  unlovely  struggle,  this 
moment  held  the  beauty  he  had  desired.  He  sat  in  an 
arm  chair  and  watched  Christina's  head  bent  over  her 
slim  hands  on  the  keys.  She  played  for  him,  wisely, 
music  with  pictures  in  it,  a  swaying  water  lily,  a  stormy 
scene  in  a  mountain  king's  hall,  a  dance  of  rustics  on 
the  green.  Finally  she  drifted  into  something  all  clear, 
swift  arpeggios  that  shimmered  on  and  on  under  her 
pliant  fingers,  and  the  lightness  of  it  seemed  to  bear 
him  up.  .  .  . 

Christina  broke  off  sharply.  She  came  and  stood 
before  him,  and  a  hot  surge  of  anger  rushed  through 
her.  For  he  was  asleep !  The  person  of  the  name  of 


82 

Fortune  slept  in  her  presence!  He  sat  not  ungrace- 
fully in  the  too  comfortable  chair,  with  his  hands 
loosely  clasped  before  him  and  his  head  bowed.  His 
shoulders  sagged  and  his  brilliant  eyes  were  closed, 
while  his  breathing  was  that  of  deep,  quiet  sleep. 

She  was  about  to  speak  her  anger,  but  something 
stopped  her.  Christina  never  knew  what  it  was.  It 
seemed  to  be  outside  herself.  She  stood  before  him, 
breathless,  while  the  rain  poured  outside.  The  feeling 
that  so  rushed  through  her  and  shocked  her  silent  was 
of  swift  gentleness,  and  something  more  moving,  un- 
namable,  powerful.  .  .  .  The  memory  of  this  moment 
was  to  come  to  her  later,  when  she  was  to  watch  him 
sleeping,  but  never  again,  until  that  later  time,  was  the 
mud  on  his  shoes  or  the  tired  line  beneath  his  closed 
eyes  to  be  of  consequence.  .  .  .  Now,  seeing  both  with 
quick,  unnatural  clarity,  she  was  unbelievably  shaken. 
Her  anger  slid  away,  and — to  her  astonishment — she 
bent  and  laid  her  hand  on  his. 

He  started  awake,  horrified.  For  an  instant  he  saw 
her  eyes  full  of  softness,  and  for  that  instant  he  clung 
to  her  hand.  Then  he  sprang  up,  and  she  was  laughing 
at  him.  He  begged  her  forgiveness  with  such  earnest- 
ness that  she  gave  it.  And  when  he  asked  her  to  play 
something  loud  and  brilliant  she  dashed  into  the  "Hun- 
garian Rhapsody."  Her  eyes  were  troubled  again,  and 
a  little  hard,  when  he  left  her  to  go  down  the  lane. 

After  all,  it  was  not  Christina's  fault  that  she  was 
not  the  woman  to  see  at  once  that  he  was  tired — to 
whom  it  would  occur  to  bring  him  a  hot  drink  and  send 
him  home  to  bed.  But  he  clung  to  her  hand  just  the 
same. 

That  is  ever  the  strange  part ! 


CHAPTER  IX 

As  Christina  Ware  dressed  for  the  dinner  Mrs. 
Hoyle  was  giving  before  the  family  went  away  for  the 
summer  she  smiled  at  herself  in  the  mirror.  The 
reflected  girl  smiled  back  happily — but  also  with  un- 
easiness. She  was  startled  at  what  she  saw  there.  She 
slipped  her  white  arms  into  the  new  rosy-yellow  even- 
ing gown — the  idea  for  which  had  been  suggested 
by  the  yellow  roses  with  reddish  hearts  repeatedly  sent 
her  by  Amos  Fortune — and  surveyed  the  result.  Then 
she  chose  a  long,  filmy  black  scarf  to  carry.  The  black 
scarf  was  the  stroke  of  an  artist,  for  Christina  knew 
the  value  of  her  dark  brows  under  her  brown-gold  hair, 
and  the  black  flecks  in  her  gray  eyes — also  of  the  black 
lashes !  Her  cheeks  were  slowly  flushing  to-night,  for 
which  circumstance  she  was  grateful.  It  was  the  cause 
of  the  flush,  secretly  admitted,  for  Christina  never 
fooled  herself  if  she  could  help  it,  that  disturbed  her, 
just  as  her  own  happy  eyes  disturbed  her.  For  Mrs. 
Hoyle  had  invited  Amos  Fortune  to  dinner — at  Chris- 
tina's request. 

"Certainly,  my  dear,  if  you  want  him,"  she  had 
acquiesced;  "but  if  he  comes  you've  got  to  treat  him 
decently." 

"Oh,  I'll  treat  him  decently !"  Christina  had  replied 
in  an  odd  tone. 

Mrs.  Hoyle  gave  the  girl  a  sharp  glance. 

"I've  known  you  since  you  were  a  baby,  and  you're 
my  own  sister's  child,  but  I  don't  believe  I  understand 
you,  Christina.  I'm  in  love,  myself,  with  this  Fortune 
man,  whom  you  want  at  your  party ;  but  when  I  first 

83 


84  The    Golden   Answer 

met  him  I  didn't  think  you'd  even  be  polite  to  him.  He 
isn't  your  sort,  or  my  sort,  either,  for  that  matter.  He's 
— he's — what  is  it  about  him  that's  different  ?" 

Christina  ignored  the  comparison  of  herself  and 
Amos  Fortune.  It  interested  her  that  her  aunt 
should  confess  she  did  not  understand  her.  We  all  like 
to  be  considered  inscrutable. 

"Don't  they  say,  Aunt  Bertha,  that  to  understand 
another  person  takes,  well — love,  like  a  mother's,  or 
God's,  or  a — a  good  man's  ?"  she  asked  slowly. 

"I'm  fond  of  you,  my  dear,  but  I'm  neither  your 
mother  nor  a  good  man!  And  certainly  I  never 
thought  to  hear  you  mention  the  love  of  God.  Who's 
next  on  the  list?  I  wish  you'd  let  me  write  for  Philip 
Dana." 

Christina  powdered  her  nose  as  she  remembered  that 
characteristic  reply  of  her  aunt.  She  had  never  been 
able  to  talk  with  her  about  anything  that  mattered 
much.  However,  to  tell  the  truth,  she  seldom  had  the 
desire  to.  If  her  mother  had  lived — what  a  gay, 
warm-hearted  girl  her  picture  showed ! — or  her  father, 
who  had  been  a  kind,  silent  man,  would  it  have  been 
different,  she  sometimes  wondered.  She  wondered 
that  again,  in  a  fleeting  moment,  to-night,  as  she  drew 
the  black  scarf  over  her  arm,  and  knew  that  Amos 
Fortune  would  think  her  beautiful. 

Though  she  was  ready  early  she  went  down  late,  and 
greeted  him  with  casual  sweetness  under  the  eyes  of  all 
the  others.  She  liked  his  being  there,  and  after  his 
strong  handclasp,  felt  comfortable  and  lighthearted. 
It  is  safe  to  say  that  the  president  of  the  new  Atlantic 
Seaboard  Realty  Company,  one  Mr.  Coxe,  never  knew 
why  she  turned  upon  him  such  a  dazzling  smile  after 
she  had  greeted  Amos  Fortune,  but  always  thought 
that  he  had  made  a  sudden  conquest,  and  paid  cheer- 


The   Golden   Answer  85 

fully  for  his  wife's  new  yellow  gown,  bought  the  fol- 
lowing week.  (But  it  shaded  to  lemon,  not  rose!) 
Christina's  new  lightness  of  heart  shone  through  her 
smile  upon  more  than  one  guest  It  was  only  with 
Amos  that  she  was  careful. 

Mrs.  Hoyle  placed  him  opposite  Christina  at  dinner, 
feeling  that  by  not  seating  them  together  she  washed 
her  hands  of  responsibility.  Christina  had,  at  her 
right,  the  new  Mr.  Coxe,  who  wore  on  his  bony 
Roman  nose  English  eyeglasses  depending  from  a 
black  ribbon.  Charles  Brent  was  on  her  left.  Her 
aunt  had  the  treasurer  of  the  new  company,  who 
looked,  Amos  had  said  to  Christina  the  week  before, 
when  she  had  brought  about  their  meeting,  exactly  like 
a  figure  eight  with  legs;  and  on  her  other  side  Dr. 
Allen,  the  confidant  of  most  persons  present  except 
the  newcomers.  The  others  were  Mrs.  Coxe,  Nora 
Willard  and  young  Toynbee.  The  wives  of  the  other 
men  had  gone  shoreward. 

There  was  grace  and  fragrance  about  the  scene,  if 
not  brilliance.  Yellow  lilies  and  velvety  heliotrope 
were  the  decorations,  and  the  shades  of  the  silver 
candlesticks  were  yellow.  The  round  table  filled  rela- 
tively a  small  space  in  the  room.  A  slight  breeze 
stirred  the  filmy  window  curtains.  It  was  scented  with 
heliotrope  from  the  garden. 

Christina,  while  she  gave  Mr.  Coxe's  booming  tones 
proper  attention,  and  threw  a  remark  now  and  then  to 
C.  M.,  watched  Amos  Fortune  and  listened  for  his 
voice  in  the  conversation.  He  was  bending  a  courteous 
ear  to  Mrs.  Coxe  at  first,  and  later  he  told  a  funny 
story  to  little  Nora  Willard,  the  point  of  which  Chris- 
tina missed  because  Mr.  Coxe  insisted  on  giving  her  a 
tip  on  the  stock  market.  (  She  thought,  in  parenthesis, 
that  it  was  extremely  bad  taste  for  him  to  try  to  adver- 


86  The   Golden   Answer 

tise  his  own  company  at  a  dinner  party.)  She  was 
feeling  an  absurd  responsibility  for  Amos  Fortune, 
though  she  tried  to  shake  it  off,  asking  herself  if  she 
expected  him  to  eat  with  his  knife.  It  was  really  the 
opposite  of  that  sort  of  responsibility;  he  seemed  to 
her,  suddenly  and  strangely,  above  the  others ;  but  she 
thought  he  might  not  talk  much  here.  And  when  he 
took  his  part  in  the  conversation,  becoming  general  as 
it  soon  did  under  the  whipping  up  of  one  or  two  of 
Mrs.  Hoyle's  crisp  sentences,  she  had  a  little  glow  of 
relieved  pride  in  him. 

Dr.  Allen  had  referred  gravely  to  the  business  de- 
pression, signs  of  which  were  in  the  air.  Mr.  Hoyle 
admitted  that  there  was  cause  for  apprehension. 

"But  even  if  there  should  be  a  tightness  of  money 
next  winter  probably  no  one  here  would  be  affected," 
said  Mr.  Coxe,  removing  his  glasses,  without  which  he 
looked  less  wise.  To  see  him  without  them  was  like 
going  behind  the  scenes  at  a  theatre.  "In  the  last  five 
years  we've  been  busy  all  over  America  making  money. 
Everybody  has  made  money,  except  the  fools,  and 
everybody  will  have  enough  tucked  away  somewhere 
to  tide  himself  and  his  family  over.  Always,  of  course, 
excepting  the  fools.  I  am  most  optimistic." 

Amos  Fortune  leaned  forward,  smiling. 

"Then  your  definition  of  a  fool,  Mr.  Coxe,  is  any 
man  who  doesn't  make  money?" 

"Possibly  I'd  qualify  that.  Any  American  who  has 
not  made  money  in  the  last  ten  years  is  a  fool,"  de- 
clared Mr.  Coxe. 

"For  my  part,"  said  Amos  quietly,  "I  am  a  bit 
sensitive  over  the  eternal  association  of  the  word 
dollar  with  the  name  of  American.  Most  of  us  prefer 
something  else  to  dollars ;  and  I  think  you  can  judge  a 
man  not  by  his  business  in  life  but  by  his  hobby." 


The    Golden   Answer  87 

"But  think  of  the  swift  pace  and  competition  in 
American  business,"  said  the  doctor.  "Would  it  exist 
if  we  weren't  money-loving?  What  started  it?  They 
take  business  more  leisurely  abroad." 

"The  tremendous  energy  of  being  young  and  the 
genius  of  a  few  pioneers.  And  once  started,  there  you 
have  the  scramble.  No  one  can  slow  down  unless  all 
do.  It's  like  the  detestable  crowd  in  the  subway:  if 
you  don't  push  forward  with  it  you  don't  get  the 
train." 

"There  is  always  the  next  train,"  said  Charles 
Brent,  comfortably. 

"And  the  same  crowd  duplicated,"  Amos  replied, 
"until  after  the  rush  hour — which  takes  you  out  of  the 
realm  of  business  entirely  and  so  isn't  in  the  discus- 
sion." 

"Well,  there  isn't  anything  practical  that  can  be  done 
about  it,  is  there?"  asked  Mrs.  Hoyle  briskly. 

"I  don't  know,"  Amos  Fortune  replied  slowly.  "We 
might  all  agree  to  be — fools — at  least  some  of  the  time. 
But  we  don't  agree,  and  so  we  keep  each  other  in  a 
kind  of  slavery,  in  which  we  sell  ourselves  to  the  high- 
est bidder,  and  some  of  us  have  no  time,  others  no 
strength,  and  finally  no  desire,  to  become  intimately 
acquainted  with  the  beauty  of  the  earth  we  inhabit  for 
a  minute  or  two  of  eternity.  Of  course,  I'm  not  the 
only  one  who  thinks  so." 

"I  haven't  heard  it  before,"  said  Christina. 

"And  because  you  haven't  heard  it  before,  Miss 
Ware,"  Mr.  Coxe  seemed  to  be  slowly  swelling  up  with 
a  quality  of  wisdom  one  knew  he  must  have  patented 
and  receive  a  royalty  on,  "you  are  here  in  a  com- 
fortable home,  eating  an  excellent  dinner,  drinking 
choice  wine,  wearing  a  charming  gown,  not  worrying 
about  the  future.  For  the  same  reason,  you  have 


88  The   Golden  Answer 

traveled  and  seen — no  doubt — at  least  some  of  the 
beauties  of  the  earth." 

"Yes,"  faltered  Christina,  "but  I— I  don't  think 
that's  the  point  exactly." 

"The  point  is,"  marched  on  Mr.  Coxe  with  heavy 
thundering,  "that  you  have  never  tried  living  with  any 
of  these  irresponsible  people  whom  Fortune  and  I  seem 
to  agree  to  call  fools.  If  you  should  try  it  you 
wouldn't  like  it,  Miss  Ware.  You  couldn't  stand  it 
log" 

Christina  raised  her  eyes  to  reply,  and  found  Amos 
Fortune  looking  straight  at  her.  He  smiled. 

"It  isn't  quite  just,"  he  said  calmly,  "to  use  Miss 
Ware  as  a  horrible  example.  We're  all  enjoying  the 
immunity  of  our  respective  degrees  of  prosperity.  I 
said  we  should  all  have  to  agree  to  be  'fools'  in  order  to 
be  'fools'  successfully.  In  the  meantime,  somebody 
must  compromise,  and  gamble  with  his  favorite 
dream." 

"Call  them  hobbies !"  interrupted  Mrs.  Hoyle.  "I'm 
afraid  of  serious  names  for  things;  they  make  me 
nervous.  And  let's  compare  'em.  Mr.  Fortune  says 
we  can  be  judged  by  our  hobbies.  Well,  mine — I've 
concluded — is  buying  dictionaries.  What  do  you  make 
of  that  ?"  She  leaned  forward  on  the  table,  her  sharp 
bright  eyes  fixed  on  Amos. 

"At  first  one  would  say,"  Amos  reflected,  "that  you 
must  be  interested  in  philology ;  but  I  should  like  to  risk 
the  guess  that  you  can't  bear  to  turn  away  a  book 
agent.  Aha!  I  got  it  right.  Especially  the  old  man 
with  an  invalid  wife,  or  the  young  one  putting  himself 
through  college?" 

"Other  people  are  so  clever  at  getting  rid  of  them," 
complained  Mrs.  Hoyle.  "I  have  a  shelf  containing 
nothing  but  dictionaries  of  'Facts.'  One  old  lady  with 


The   Golden   Answer  89 

a  terrible  crape  bonnet — on  a  hot  day  I  remember — 
said  they  were  so  handy  when  she  wished  to  write 
letters  of  condolence.  Not  the  crape  bonnets!  The 
dictionaries !  Now  speak  up,  Benton  Hoyle,  and  admit 
your  carpenter  bench."  She  nodded  briskly  at  her 
husband,  a  gray-haired,  tired,  rather  blank-looking 
man,  with  an  irritable  under  lip  and  self -centered 
eyes. 

"No  one  wants  to  hear  about  that  junk  shop, 
Bertha,"  he  mumbled. 

"I  had  a  brother,"  said  Amos  Fortune,  turning  to  his 
host,  "who  always  had  a  tool  chest  and  a  carpenter's 
table  in  our  big  old  attic.  Great  place  on  rainy  days ! 
He  made  a  little  model  of  an  airplane,  I  remember,  and 
once  it  flew  across  the  meadow.  It  smashed  itself  on 
a  tree,  and  he  never  could  make  the  others  go." 

"Did  he  really?"  exclaimed  Benton  Hoyle  eagerly, 
coming  to  life,  his  face  flushing.  "By  George !  I  made 
one,  too,  but  it  wouldn't  fly!" 

"Well,  he  never  made  another,  you  know,"  Amos 
said  gently. 

"And  what  was  your  brother's  business?"  inquired 
the  doctor.  "Just  by  way  of  making  the  point,"  he 
added,  "if  we're  to  judge  him  and  our  friend  Hoyle 
by  the  airplanes  and  not  by  that." 

"He  died  a  month  after  leaving  college,"  answered 
Amos  briefly. 

In  the  little  silence  that  followed  that  statement  the 
doctor  turned  smiling  to  Charles  Mowatt  Brent. 

"We  all  know  C.  M.'s  four  hobbies,"  he  said.  "Let's 
embarrass  him  with  them!  I  should  judge  the  hos- 
pital came  first." 

"No,  it's  the  Old  Ladies'  Home — I'm  one  of  the 
directors — a  compliment  I  don't  appreciate,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Hoyle. 


QO  The    Golden   Answer 

"Hear!  Hear!"  pleaded  C.  M.  "You  can't  make 
anything  of  that,  Fortune.  Just  a — a  pastime,  I  assure 
you." 

"Like  the  airplane,"  smiled  Amos. 

"Well,  he  flies  highest  for  the  orphan  asylum," 
added  Christina,  turning  on  the  crimson  gentleman. 
C.  M.  grinned  at  her  miserably,  but  with  a  look  at  the 
back  of  his  eyes  that  made  her  sorry  she  had  spoken 
just  then.  It  was  the  first  time  the  look  had  made  her 
sorry,  which  fact  is  interesting  because  it  was  the  last 
time  she  ever  saw  it  there. 

Mr.  Coxe  became  animated.  "And  what  is  Mr. 
Brent's  fourth  hobby?"  he  inquired. 

No  one  answered  until  little  Nora  Willard  explained 
serenely: 

"It's  a  Refuge  for  Girls  over  in  the  West  Forties. 
They  say  it's  perfectly  lovely,  but  Mother  won't  let  me 
visit  there.  It's  all  fixed  up  with  chintz  and  canary 
birds.  What  would  that  indicate,  Mr.  Fortune?" 

"Oh,  say,"  burst  out  C.  M.  almost  savagely,  "per- 
sonalities are  odious!  I  didn't  think  it  of  you,  Mrs. 
Hoyle.  It's  someone  else's  turn,  anyhow." 

Christina  leaned  forward  to  speak  to  Amos  Fortune, 
who  was  sitting  with  his  eyes  on  his  plate.  He  had 
not  answered  Nora  Willard. 

"Have  you  a  hobby?"  she  asked,  without  calling  him 
by  name.  He  lifted  an  abstracted  glance,  but  spoke 
with  ironic  lightness: 

"The  theory  breaks  down,  because  at  present  mine 
is — business." 

After  dinner  Christina  saw  Amos  only  twice  before 
he  came  to  bid  her  good-night.  They  had  no  talk  to- 
gether. And  she  could  not  understand.  At  one  of 
these  times  she  and  Mr.  Coxe  came  upon  Amos  and 
C.  M.  smoking  in  the  pergola. 


The   Golden   Answer  91 

"I  like  that  little  Martin  girl  you  introduced  me  to," 
she  heard  C.  M.  say  to  Amos,  as  she  slowly  ap- 
proached, followed  by  Mr.  Coxe.  "Went  to  see  her 
the  other  night — that  hot  Monday — took  her  and  her 
mother  for  a  ride." 

"You'll  find,"  said  Amos  Fortune  quietly,  "that 
there  aren't  many  like  her." 

Both  men  turned,  as  Christina  stood  there  in  the 
moonlight  with  the  black  scarf  over  her  arm.  Mr. 
Coxe  was  at  her  elbow.  She  had  seen  their  faces 
soften  when  they  spoke  of  Hilda,  and  then  both 
stiffened  into  a  peculiar  self-defensive  blankness  as  they 
turned  to  her.  It  was  only  for  a  moment.  She  would 
not,  once,  have  noticed  it.  In  an  instant  C.  M.  was  his 
jolly  self  again,  his  need  for  armor  over — forever,  had 
Christina  known.  But  Amos  did  not  change.  And  it 
came  about  that  it  was  C.  M.  and  not  Amos  with  whom 
she  walked  down  into  the  garden,  and  Mr.  Coxe  who 
stayed  talking  with  Amos  Fortune. 

Christina  was  glad,  anyway,  that  the  men  liked  him. 
Mr.  Coxe  laid  up  no  hard  feeling  over  their  difference 
of  opinion,  it  seemed. 

When  she  returned  to  the  pergola  after  vainly  trying 
to  get  C.  M.  to  talk  about  this  outsider,  Hilda  Martin, 
Mr.  Coxe  and  Amos  were  deep  in  a  business  talk  and 
most  evidently  did  not  care  to  be  interrupted.  "Boom- 
ing his  own  company  again,"  thought  Christina  with 
scorn.  She  listened  a  moment  to  his  rounded  periods 
upon  the  subject  of  its  soundness,  and  as  she  and  C.  M. 
walked  away  she  heard  Amos  answer  eagerly :  "I'll  do 
it — it's  a  chance  I  can't  afford  to  miss.  You'll  get  a 
check  to-morrow." 

Her  heart  quickened  a  little.  She  had  not  known  he 
had  any  money  to  invest. 

At  last  he  came  to  say  good-night  to  her  with  quiet 


92  The    Golden   Answer 

friendliness.  That  sweet,  strange  well-being  pervaded 
her  again,  as  impossible  of  control  and  involuntary,  as 
unreasoned  as  the  coursing  of  blood  in  the  veins,  to  be 
followed  by  flatness  and  the  thought  of  Hilda  Martin, 
whom  there  were  not  many  like.  For  he  went  off  in  a 
matter  of  fact  way  with  C.  M.  She  loved  his  friendli- 
ness, which  she  could  count  on,  somehow  she  knew,  in 
any  need,  but  she  had  been  allowed  glimpses  of  some- 
thing else. 

When  the  guests  had  all  gone  home,  and  left  the 
house  still,  wrapped  around  by  the  quiet  night,  Chris- 
tina, avoiding  a  talk  with  Mrs.  Hoyle,  went  out  of 
doors,  down  into  the  garden,  where  roses  were  faint 
white  spots  and  fragrant  heliotrope  became  black 
velvet  in  the  unearthly  whiteness.  She  felt  as  if  she 
had  never  seen  the  garden  before,  or  the  moon  and 
stars,  or  the  tall  poplars  waving  plumily  in  the  night 
sky.  She  had  never  before  seen  the  beauty  of  the 
earth!  It  was  as  if,  too,  she  had  never  felt  anything 
before,  and  her  mind  quivered  with  new  sense  impres- 
sions. Unrest  and  misery  laid  hold  on  her,  also  sur- 
prise and  rage  at  herself.  Surely  the  Discreet  Princess 
was  becoming  indiscreet 

During  all  these  weeks  she  had  been  smarting  from 
the  desertion  of  Philip  Dana,  and  wildly  striking  out 
for  something  else,  some  amusement.  And  what  had 
she  got?  Amusement  certainly! 

She  drew  the  black  scarf  around  her  throat  and  fled 
down  a  path  to  the  far  end  of  the  garden,  a  quiet  spot, 
beyond  which  was  a  wandering,  lonely  lane.  Leaning 
against  the  old  fence  that  here  edged  the  garden  she 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands  as  if  the  unspoken 
words  pursued  her  to  look  her  in  the  eyes  and  demand 
an  answer.  And  behind  them  in  a  shadowy  cluster, 
waiting  to  surge  forward  to  attack  her  were  the  ranks 


The   Golden  Answer  93 

of  fear.  What  if  he  did  not  love  her !  And  if  he  did — 
what! 

A  slight  wind  stirred  the  leaves,  causing  a  soft 
smell  of  grass  to  arise,  and  with  it  floated  to  her  the 
fragrance  of  tobacco. 

She  lifted  her  head  and  stood  motionless.  Another 
figure,  in  the  shadow  of  a  silvery  beech,  was  leaning 
against  the  fence,  on  the  outside.  A  rusty  gate  was 
between  them.  When  she  looked  up  the  figure  moved 
forward.  She  saw  that  it  was  Amos  Fortune,  and 
was  flooded  with  joy. 

"Don't  be  frightened,"  he  said  quickly.  "It's  I.  Is 
anything  the  matter?" 

Christina  looked  up  at  him  and  trembled. 

"I  don't  know." 

He  put  his  hand  on  the  gate.    "May  I  come  in?" 

She  nodded.  But  the  gate  was  fastened  with  a 
rusty  padlock. 

"Oh — it's  locked!"  whispered  Christina  vaguely. 

She  saw  him  put  his  foot  on  the  rail  and  leap  over 
and  come  to  her.  .  .  . 

"What  are  locks  ?"  he  was  laughing. 

The  breeze  floated  the  filmy  black  scarf  about  her 
and  the  sweetness  of  heliotrope  stole  out.  She  lifted 
her  hands  to  her  lips  to  steady  them.  Standing  close, 
he  gathered  up  the  long  scarf  and  crushed  his  face  into 
its  folds.  And  then,  when  he  raised  his  brilliant  eyes  to 
hers — she  saw.  .  .  .  She  felt  his  arms  holding  her, 
and  abandoned  everything  but  the  beauty  of  the  earth. 


CHAPTER  X 

IN  the  old  days,  before  the  coming  of  the  Discreet 
Princess,  Amos  and  Harmony  often  spent  the  even- 
nings,  before  her  bedtime,  over  books.  When  the 
child  was  very  little — she  had  been  an  adorable  baby — 
Amos  had  made  himself  familiar  with  Tom,  the  son  of 
a  piper,  with  Daffy-down-dilly,  the  Queen  of  Hearts, 
and  many  other  delightful  people.  In  those  days — 
how  near  they  seemed  sometimes! — every  night  the 
tiny  thing  would  drag  her  "Old  Mudder  Goose"  from 
the  bottom  shelf  by  the  fireplace  and  put  it  invitingly 
into  his  lap.  Later,  when  she  was  learning  to  read,  for 
he  taught  her  himself  before  she  went  to  school,  she 
would  read  aloud  to  him  while  he  lay  on  the  old  sofa 
before  the  fire,  grinning  over  the  sound  of  the  small 
delicious  voice  spelling  out  "Red  Hooding,"  as  she 
called  the  child  who  visited  her  grandmother  so  dis- 
astrously. Before  long  she  was  able  to  manage  grown- 
up books,  so  that  when  Amos  came  home  with  two's 
and  seven's  and  eight's  dancing  before  his  eyes  she 
could  read  to  him  the  books  he  loved.  After  she  had 
tried  it — which  he  first  let  her  do  for  fun — she  was 
allowed  to  continue  the  custom,  for  there  were  two 
separate  joys  in  hearing  Harmony  read :  her  delicious 
interpretations,  and  the  books  themselves,  which  she 
never  spoiled. 

These  books  were,  although  Harmony  did  not  know 
it,  characteristically  and  amazingly  catholic.  The 
small  house  was  crammed  with  books  that  had  come 
down  to  Amos  Fortune,  as  well  as  with  those  of  his 

94 


The   Golden  Answer  95 

own  selection.  For  all  that,  and  in  spite  of  "Jeremy 
Pride,"  one  could  not  call  him  a  bookish  man.  He 
loved  action  better  than  the  dream  of  action.  And 
there  is  a  kind  of  golden,  Elizabethan  adventure  of  the 
soul  that  transcends  mere  earthbound  buccaneering. 

After  the  return  of  the  Discreet  Princess  into  their 
lives  there  was,  indeed,  more  action,  less  dreaming  and 
reading.  More  hours  of  money  getting,  and  more  of 
golden  living,  caused  the  quiet  evenings  to  dwindle 
when  Amos  and  Harmony  turned  the  years  back  and 
spent  time  lavishly  on  small  delights,  as  it  used  to  be 
spent — not  wasted — when  there  was  more  of  it  than 
there  is  now. 

So  there  came  the  evening  that  was  the  night  before 
a  great  day.  On  this  evening  Amos  had  been  told  that 
he  could  not  go  to  Christina — not  for  long;  he  had 
stolen  a  few  remembered  moments.  Then  he  had  sub- 
mitted with  quiet  amusement,  even  rich  content.  There 
would  be  so  many  days  to  come !  And  on  this  evening 
he  and  Harmony  returned  involuntarily  to  old  custom. 

He  stretched  himself  on  the  wide  and  faded  sofa — 
the  chintzes,  thanks  to  Johanna,  though  faded  were 
always  exquisitely  fresh;  and  Harmony  sat  down  on 
her  four-legged  "cricket,"  her  favorite  seat.  This  was 
their  first  fire  of  the  year.  The  smoky  coolness  of 
autumn  was  in  the  air. 

"Peaseblossom,"  said  Amos,  patting  her  brown, 
plump  hand  that  lay  beside  him,  "get  a  book  and  read 
to  me." 

"What  do  you  think  you  would  like  to-night, 
!#mos?"  she  inquired. 

He  half  shut  his  eyes  at  the  fire. 

"A  book  about  voyaging,  I  think,  my  dear.  A!  book 
about  those  who  went  to  seek  adventure  and  their  life's 
happiness.  There's  one,"  he  pointed,  "that  old,  fat, 


96  The   Golden  Answer 

green  thing  on  the  bottom  shelf — sea  green!"  he 
laughed. 

Harmony  pulled  the  book  of  voyages  from  its  shelf 
and  opened  it  on  the  lap  of  her  short  brown  dress. 
Bending  her  head  over  the  pages  so  that  her  curls  hung 
forward  she  read  in  her  high  voice  that  had  never 
ceased  to  be  delicious.  She  pointed  to  the  words  with 
one  forefinger,  while  Amos  stroked  her  other  hand  and 
smiled  at  the  ceiling.  It  was  all  as  it  used  to  be. 

"  'If  Paradise/  "  read  the  little  voice,  emphasizing 
certain  words  with  prodigious  wisdom,  "  'were  really 
on  the  surface  of  this  world,  is  there  not  many  a  man, 
among  those  who  are  so  keen  to  learn  and  search  out 
everything,  that  would  not  let  himself  be  deterred  from 
reaching  it  ?  When  we  see  that  there  are  men  who  will 
not  be  deterred  from  penetrating  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth  in  search  of  silk,  and  all  for  the  sake  of  filthy 
lucre,  how  can  we  believe  that  they  would  be  deterred 
from  going  to  get  a  sight  of  Paradise!"  " 

"How  can  we  indeed !"  Amos  murmured. 

Harmony's  voice  went  on ;  the  small  fire  leaped  and 
snapped ;  the  light  glowed  and  flickered. 

"  'There  are  great  indications/  "  continued  Harmony 
in  a  meticulous  and  conversational  tone,  "  'of  this 
being  the  terrestrial  Paradise,  for  its  site  coincides  with 
the  opinion  of  the  holy  and  wise  theologians  whom  I 
have  mentioned;  and  moreover,  the  other  evidences 
agree  with  the  supposition,  for  I  have  never  either  read 
or  heard  of  fresh  water  coming  in  so  large  a  quantity, 
in  close  conjunction  with  the  water  of  the  sea;  and  if 
the  water  of  which  I  speak  does  not  proceed  from  the 
Earthly  Paradise,  it  appears  to  be  still  more  marvelous, 
for  I  do  not  believe  that  there  is  any  river  in  the  world 
so  large  or  so  deep.1 ' 

"Harmony,"  interrupted  Amos,  "there  is  no  other 


The   Golden   Answer  97  , 

river  so  large  and  deep !  For  as  long  as  men  seek  far, 
for  fair  things,  the  world  is  a  beautiful  and  adventur- 
ous place." 

"Yes,  Amos,"  replied  Harmony,  placid  and  happy, 
and  herself  staring  with  brilliant  brown  eyes  at  the 
flames. 

She  read  on,  through  the  evening,  here  and  there  in 
the  fat,  sea-green  volume,  words  from  the  quills  of 
many  gentlemen  adventurers,  who  had,  in  truth — some 
of  them — not  sought  fair  things,  but  had — most  of 
them — gone  most  hazardously  to  seek  Cathay. 

Now  the  tale  was  of  "divers  very  rich  countries,  both 
civil  and  others  .  .  .  where  there  is  to  be  found  great 
abundance  of  gold,  silver,  precious  stones,  cloth  of 
gold,  silks,  all  manner  of  spices.  .  .  .  and  other  kinds 
of  merchandise  of  an  inestimable  price,"  such  as  ladies 
of  great  beauty  were  wont  to  receive  from  the  adven- 
turers ;  and  now  it  was  of  less  gorgeous  things,  trouble, 
and  disastrous  voyages. 

"  'The  frigate  was  near  cast  away',5'  Harmony  pro- 
nounced pleasantly,  "  'oppressed  by  waves,  yet  at  that 
time  recovered.  ...  So  it  is,  fortune  favors  some  to 
live  at  home  to  their  further  punishment;  'tis  want  of 
judgment.' ' 

Amos  ceased  to  smile. 

"That's  not  so  pretty,  is  it,  Mustardseed?  Better 
skip  to  the  end  of  the  book.  There  ought  to  be  some- 
thing of  'Gloriana'  in  all  this !  It  was  for  her  so  much 
was  risked. 

"My  dear  little  girl,"  he  added  tenderly,  as  Harmony 
turned  the  pages  with  diligence,  "do  you  know  how 
much  I  love  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Harmony. 

"And  do  you  know  how  happy  you've  made  me  ?" 

"Uh-um,"  Harmony  repeated. 


98  The    Golden   Answer 

"I  couldn't  love  you  any  more — or  any  less !" 

"I'm  very  glad  of  it,"  said  Harmony,  with  a  bright 
smile. 

Amos  gave  a  short  laugh  and  shaded  his  eyes  from 
the  fire,  turning  away  from  the  child. 

After  fluttering  many  leaves  she  went  on,  anxious 
to  please  him. 

"Here's  a  place  to  begin.  It's  in  the  back  of  the 
book." 

"Very  well — just  one  more.  What  have  you 
chosen?"  he  said  after  a  silence. 

The  brown  curls  hung  forward  again  over  the  open 
pages.  Amos  Fortune  still  shaded  his  eyes.  He  did 
not  look  at  her. 

"  'When  we  once  come  in  sight  of  the  port  of  death, 
to  which  all  winds  drive  us,  and  when  by  letting  fall 
that  fatal  anchor  which  can  never  be  weighed  again, 
the  navigation  of  this  life  takes  end ;  then  it  is,  I  say, 
that  our  own  cogitations  (those  sad  and  severe  cogita- 
tions, formerly  beaten  from  us  by  our  health  and 
felicity)  return  again  and  pay  us  to  the  uttermost  for 
all  the  pleasing  passages  of  our  lives  past.' ' 

"Harmony!"  cried  Amos.  He  reached  out  his  hand 
quickly  and  drew  her  to  him,  crushing  her  rosy  cheek 
against  his  own.  "You  darling !  Come  and  kiss  me !" 

She  wound  her  slim  arms  around  his  neck,  and 
kissed  his  ear. 

"I  choose  you  for  mine !"  she  said.  Harmony  could 
make  the  most  satisfactory  speeches. 

Then  the  fat,  sea-green  volume  was  put  back  on  its 
shelf,  not  to  be  taken  down  again  for  many  a  month. 
Long  afterward  Amos  remembered  their  manner  of 
spending  that  last  evening  before  the  great  day. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  night  when  Christina  Fortune,  once  known  as 
the  Discreet  Princess,  but  now  surely  undeserving  of 
the  name,  went  to  live  in  the  small,  nonconforming 
house  in  the  lane  of  contrasts,  with  one  of  those  per- 
sons against  whom  the  thundering  Mr.  Coxe  had 
warned  her,  was  a  windy,  rainy,  raw  example  of  the 
worst  autumn  can  do  in  the  North  Temperate  zone, 
not  at  all  the  sort  of  evening  one  would  select  upon 
which  to  return  from  a  wedding  journey. 

Amos  and  Christina  did  not  select  it.  They  would 
have  stayed  happily  in  the  mountains,  but  there  were 
exactions  exercised  by  the  New  Firm  as  well  as  by  the 
old,  murky  South  Sea  House.  Amos  had  to  come  back 
to  earn  that  new  salary  which  was  to  make  all  things 
possible. 

Christina  was,  perhaps,  more  willing  to  return  than 
Amos,  because  she  was  more  practical.  She  had  a 
lively  interest  in  his  success  with  the  Atlantic  Seaboard 
Realty  Company,  for  upon  that  had  depended  her 
consent  to  this  strange  sudden  marriage  of  hers.  They 
had  had  two  talks  on  this  subject,  one  before  the  mar- 
riage and  one  after.  In  them  she  had  revealed  an  odd 
combination  of  practicality,  and  a  lack  of  personal 
responsibility  in  his  success  or  failure.  She  expected 
him  to  succeed ;  but  that  was  his  affair. 

"You  know,  dear,"  he  told  her  as  they  sat  under  the 
rose-colored  lamp,  on  the  davenport  where  he  had 
talked  with  her  in  his  Fool's  motley,  and  so  suddenly 
disappeared,  bells  and  all,  "I'm  as  poor  as  Job.  ...  Do 
you  suppose  he  ever  did  have  a  turkey?" 

99 


ioo  The   Golden  Answer 

"Why — why,  I  don't  know,"  she  stammered  in 
amazement,  and  then  laughed. 

"I'll  look  that  reference  up  sometime.  Sounds  in- 
teresting, doesn't  it?  More  like  a  darky  story  than  the 
Bible.  I  knew  an  old  slave,  once,  called  Uncle 
Job " 

"Amos!" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"What  were  you  going  to  say?" 

"Oh,  yes.  .  .  .  Well,  I'm  as  poor  as  Job's  turkey, 
Christina." 

"I  don't  believe  you  really  are,"  she  looked  at  him 
speculatively.  "You  don't  seem  poor." 

"I  know  you  mean  that  for  a  compliment,  so  accept 
my  thanks,  Princess." 

"Haven't  you  any  money?    I  thought " 

"What  did  you  think?" 

"I've  heard  that  you  have  gone  into  Mr.  Coxe's  new 
company,  as  a  stockholder,  and  with  a  salaried  position 
besides." 

"That's  true.  I  have.  But  I  haven't  so  very  many 
shares  of  stock,  though  I  put  in  all  the  money  I  could 
scrape  together.  It  seems  like  a  very  good  thing." 

"Yes,  Uncle  Benton  thinks  so,  and  he  likes  Mr. 
Coxe,  though  he  hasn't  known  him  long." 

"Your  uncle  is  a  successful  business  man,  carpenter 
shop  and  all." 

"You  will  have  the  dividends,  and  your  salary.  Is 
that — good  ?" 

"It's  better  than  the  South  Sea  House." 

She  let  a  pause  fall  there,  and  he  knew,  uncom- 
fortably, that  she  expected  to  know  the  figure.  She 
ought  to  know ;  he  expected  to  tell  her ;  but  he  hated  to 
read  the  rather  eager  question  in  her  eyes,  and  to  see 
them  disappointed  at  the  low  figure  he  mentioned. 


The    Golden   Answer  101 

"But  it  will  increase,"  he  hastened. 

"It  would  have  to,"  she  stated  clearly.  "I  have  a 
little  of  my  own,  but " 

"We  will  count  that  out,  Christina,"  he  replied  as 
clearly. 

"Oh,  why?  If  I  want  to  use  it  for  extra  clothes, 
for  instance  ?  Don't  be  foolish." 

"But  it  must  be — 'extra'." 

He  suddenly  reflected  that  Christina  was  the  sort 
of  woman  with  whom  one  could  not  imagine  putting 
things  on  a  business  basis.  A  man  might  easily  marry 
Hilda  Martin  and  agree  to  go  fifty-fifty  with  no  loss 
of  self-respect.  But  not  Christina. 

"It  is  small  to  begin  on,  but  with  the  stock  going  up 
and  your  salary  increasing,  we  sha'n't  be  poor  long.  I 
expect  a  lot  of  you,  Amos." 

"Darling,  I've  already  given  you  all  I  have." 

And  when  they  talked  of  worldly  things  again, 
toward  the  end  of  the  wedding  journey,  she  said: 

"Yes,  it's  terrible  to  leave,  but  aren't  you  eager  to 
begin  to  make  your  fortune?  Don't  you  want  to  start 
work  for  my  new  house  ?" 

"All  yours?" 

"Ours,"  she  whispered  delightfully. 

"But,  really,  Christina,"  he  said,  after  appropriately 
silencing  the  whisper,  "I  like  the  small  house.  I'd  hate 
to  leave  it." 

"We  sha'n't  be  moving  right  away."  Her  voice  was 
a  trifle  dry,  and  it  was  half  an  hour  -before  he  rose 
above  the  sudden  feeling  of  flatness  its  tone  had 
caused. 

The  small  house,  with  all  its  lamps  and  candles 
lighted  and  the  fire  blazing  on  the  library  hearth,  shone 
like  a  clear,  warm  heart  ready  to  take  them  in.  Its 
shabby  places  seemed  to  have  vanished.  The  charming 


102  The   Golden  Answer 

old  chintz  curtains  were  immaculate.  The  sofa  before 
the  fireplace,  covered  with  the  same  delightful,  small- 
figured  pattern  of  chintz,  seemed  no  longer  dilapi- 
dated, but  had  become  a  softly  colored  seat  for  two. 
The  mahogany  secretary  gleamed  its  richest  tones,  and 
told  no  secrets,  no  histories  of  defeat,  compromise,  or 
struggle.  The  one  thin  Eastern  rug  was  speckless,  and 
had  absorbed  all  color  into  its  depth  of  blue  and  rose 
and  gold. 

When  Amos  Fortune  brought  Christina,  beautiful 
and  glowing,  too,  into  his  house,  and  taking  her  damp 
coat  from  her  shoulders  saw  her  raise  her  arms  and 
remove  her  hat  and  stand  there  at  home,  he  felt  that 
this  was  a  miracle  done  in  a  latter  day.  It  could  not  be 
that  he  was  to  keep  her!  But  there  she  stood,  very 
real,  very  wifelike,  before  his  fire,  with  the  light  of  it 
on  her  hair,  smiling  at  him,  much  at  home.  Harmony 
welcomed  them,  with  old  Johanna  in  the  background. 
Harmony,  in  her  prettiest  white  dress,  was  flushed  and 
shy ;  Johanna  gray  and  starched  but  smiling. 

Harmony,  amazed,  too,  that  the  Discreet  Princess 
was  here  at  home,  smiled  into  Christina's  eyes. 

"I'm  glad  Amos  brought  you,"  she  whispered.  "I 
wanted  him  to." 

"You're  a  welcome  sight,  ma'am,"  said  Johanna. 
"I've  a  bite  and  sup  on  the  back  of  the  stove." 

Christina  was  at  her  best  that  evening  of  their 
return.  If  it  is  true  that  the  human  soul  is  most  nearly 
perfect  when  it  gives  and  dares  most,  that  may  be  the 
reason.  For  she  had,  from  her  aunt's  and  her  own 
point  of  view,  gone  madly  and  blindly  to  this  marriage 
with  a  man  who,  though  probably  better  born — this 
was  a  suspicion  unmentioned  between  her  and  Mrs. 
Hoyle— was  not  their  "sort,"  who  was  poor,  and  had 
made  only  the  merest  start  in  the  world  represented  by 


The   Golden   Answer  103 

her  uncle  and  Mr.  Coxe  and,  more  vaguely,  "Wall 
Street."  He  had,  moreover,  queer,  lovable,  quixotic 
ways  of  doing  things,  such  as  bringing  up  little  girls 
left  orphaned  by  his  friends,  and  of  writing  something 
or  other,  mostly  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  It  can 
with  truth  be  claimed  that  Christina  had  been  venture- 
some. And  perhaps  that  was  the  reason  for  her  great 
beauty  on  one  other  night  here  to  be  recorded.  She 
had  loved  and  dared.  No  more  can  be  said  of  the 
daughters  of  the  prophets  or  of  the  sons  of  God. 

She  sat  on  the  chintz  sofa  leaning  forward  with  her 
hands  clasped — they  were  strong,  white  hands,  capable 
but  unused — the  fire  illuminating  her  softened  face, 
her  black-flecked  gray  eyes  tender,  the  dim  rose  in  her 
cheeks. 

"I  have  brought  you  home,"  said  Amos. 

"But  I  had  to  come !"  she  returned.  "Up  to  the  last 
I  didn't  dream  I'd  do  it.  I  thought  we  were  both 
mad." 

"What  do  you  think  now?" 

"I  don't  understand  and  I  don't  care !  I  want  to  be 
with  you,  whatever  happens." 

"Nothing  can  happen.     I  have  taken  you." 

"You  don't  know  me  very  well,"  said  Christina 
slowly.  "I  can't  always  be  like  this.  I  don't  stay — 
on  the  heights." 

"No  one  does.  That's  in  the  school  psychologies. 
That's  why  there's  no  such  thing  as  a  long  lyric !  But 
you  can  have  a  series  of  lyrics.  Don't  you  know  yet 
it's  all  of  you  I  love?  And  at  all  times  that  you  are 
you?  .  .  .  But  there  will  be  times  when  you  won't 
love  me!  I  am  afraid,  darling,  I  don't  know  much 
about  making  a  woman  happy.  It's  a  long  time  since 
I  have  even  talked  to  a  woman,  except  Johanna  and 
Hilda  Martin." 


IO4  The   Golden   Answer 

"You  have  never  told  me,"  Christina  said,  taking  his 
hand,  the  long,  fine  hand  Hilda  had  touched  only  once, 
"about  your  mother,  or  whether  you  have  a  sister. 
You  have  never  told  me  really  anything  at  all  about 
your  family.  I  don't  know  much  about  you,  either." 

"I've  told  you  one  thing,"  he  answered  in  a  low 
voice.  "You  know,  at  least,  about  the  horrible  old  boy 
who  owned  that  secretary.  Grandfather  Amos  For- 
tune— the  devil  rest  his  soul!  And — the  pity  of  my 
only  brother.  ...  I  worship  you  for  not  minding 
that." 

"Which  is  all  over  now  and  probably  exaggerated, 
anyway." 

He  kissed  her  passionately. 

"I  never  knew  my  mother  or  father,"  he  said,  gently 
answering  her  question  after  a  moment,  looking  down 
at  her  hand  in  his,  "and  I  never  had  a  sister.  Perhaps 
it  is  just  as  well.  My  brother — died — at  twenty- 
two." 

"You  have  been  lonely."  Christina's  voice  shook 
with  the  depths  of  her  regret  for  the  years  when  she 
had  not  been  with  him. 

"Yes,  sometimes." 

"But  you  are  never  going  to  be  lonely  again.  Amos 
— keep  me  here  always,  like  this !" 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  again,  and  laughed 
exultantly. 

"Darling  Gloriana!  You  funny  girl.  A  wife 
usually  comes  to  stay." 

They  had  forgotten  the  wildness  of  the  wet  night. 
But  as  they  sat  and  talked  before  the  fire  the  rain 
began  to  dash  on  the  windows  of  the  warm  room  and 
a  bough  of  the  copper  beech  thrashed  against  the  side 
of  the  house.  The  wind  raged  down  the  lane,  which 
they  could  hear  flowing  with  a  river  of  flood 


The   Golden   Answer  105 

water,  and  whined  around  the  chimney.  Occasionally 
drops  of  water  hissed  on  the  red  coals  of  their  pro- 
tected fire. 

They  sat  with  their  arms  around  each  other.  Chris- 
tina, since  his  laughing  protest,  was  sunk  in  indolent 
content.  But  Amos  had  turned  grave. 

"Christina,"  he  said  finally,  after  having  listened  to 
the  storm  in  silence  for  some  time,  "try  to  understand 
what  I  mean,  even  though  I  don't  speak  very  clearly! 
I  have  told  you  something  about  the  part  of  my  life 
before  I  knew  you — and  it  was  most  of  it  disagreeable. 
If  I  have  left  anything  untold — and  I  have — it  is 
because,  of  several  injustices  and  wrongs,  there  is  none 
that  can  be  set  right  by  being  made  known  now — even 
to  you!  There  is  none  that  doesn't  involve — other 
people  besides  ourselves;  and  that  is  why  I  have  not 
told  you — quite  everything.  This  way  is  fairer  to 
you,  and  to  others  and  I  even  think — to  me !  ...  Will 
you  try  to  trust  me?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Christina,  laying  her  cheek  against 
his  arm.  "I  won't  be  Elsa!  If  I  should  question  you, 
you  might  vanish  with  a  swan !" 

Later  they  went  around  their  house  to  lock  it  for 
the  night.  Johanna  was  in  her  little  room  over  the 
kitchen;  Harmony  in  hers  over  the  porch,  next  to 
Amos's.  One  by  one  they  tried  the  windows  and 
doors  and  put  out  the  rosy-yellow  lights  and  banked 
the  fires — their  fires  that  gleamed  rose-yellow,  too,  like 
Christina,  Amos  thought.  She  moved  beside  him 
softly,  subdued  and  happy. 

They  came  last  into  the  kitchen,  which  Johanna  had 
left  spotlessly  white  and  yellow,  and  they  laughed 
together  over  shaking  down  the  stove  once  more — im- 
proving on  Johanna's  fire.  Amos  said  he  knew  all 
about  how  to  regulate  dampers  and  shovel  coal,  and 


io6  The   Golden   Answer 

Christina  marveled  and  said  she  could  never  learn,  so 
it  was  lucky  that  they  had  Johanna. 

"It's  easy,"  he  mocked  at  her.  "You  see  that  pipe 
goes  up  the  chimney,  and  this  damper  follows  the  line 
of  its  own  handle  right  across  the  pipe.  Be  logical, 
my  girl !  Do  you  want  the  draft  from  the  chimney  or 
do  you  not?  You  do  not;  turn  the  damper  so.  And 
you  shut  the  lower  door.  Don't  look  so  puzzled ;  you 
won't  have  to  do  it !" 

"I  never  could,"  Christina  laughed.  "And — horrors ! 
— there's  the  furnace !  Does  it  work  the  same  ?" 

He  laughed  back  at  her. 

"The  general  theory  is  the  same,  with  variations, 
according  to  the  direction  of  the  wind,  the  atmospheric 
pressure,  and  the  temperature  of  the  day.  Dismiss  the 
furnace  from  your  mind ;  that's  my  job." 

"Not  Johanna's?" 

"Furnace  coal  is  heavy,"  said  Amos.  "And 
Johanna's  hair  is  white." 

"Oh." 

Christina,  after  a  pause,  looked  at  the  floor. 

"How  clean  it  is — she  must  scrub  it  every  day." 

"Probably — heaven  bless  Johanna !" 

Christina  sparkled.  "You  have  found  one  woman 
who  will  scrub  floors  for  you,  if  I  don't  know  about 
stoves.  I'll  soon  be  jealous  of  my  husband  whom  every 
woman  loves !" 

"You  may  well  be  jealous  of  Johanna — I'm  in  love 
with  her,  and  so  is  Harmony,  and  you  will  be." 

Christina  walked  to  the  white  curtained  cupboard 
and  looked  at  the  rows  of  yellow  and  blue  cups — 
Johanna's  kitchen  ware;  other  rows  of  yellow  bowls 
of  graded  sizes,  little  fat  pitchers,  round  blue  plates,  all 
shining. 


The   Golden   Answer  107 

"I  hope  Johanna  will  stay!"  she  said.  "They  are 
very  pretty,  but  I  shouldn't  like  to  wash  them." 

"No,"  said  Amos,  "it  doesn't  go  with  you,  not  with 
Gloriana.  Now — if  I  had  been  a  woman  I  should  have 
been  just  plain  Jane.  It's  an  awful  confession — but  I 
believe  I  should  rather  have  liked  to  polish  blue  plates 
and  yellow  bowls  and  set  them  on  white  shelves." 

"You  ridiculous  man!  You  plain  Jane!  You 
who  are — are Well,  I'm  in  love  with  you !" 

The  rain  had  slackened  a  little  and  the  wind  was 
dying.  They  could  hear  the  flood  water  still  running 
down  the  lane.  The  night  was  not  so  wild,  but  there 
was,  just  outside  their  door,  a  dripping  desolation. 
Beyond  the  bright  kitchen  that  enclosed  their  happiness 
what  miseries  might  not  the  wind  toss  about  in  the 
darkness,  what  homelessness  and  degradation,  what 
lost  sad  state  ? 

"You  need  never  wash  nasty  yellow  bowls;  I  sup- 
pose you  refer  to  cake  bowls — I've  been  known  to  lick 
them!"  Amos  whispered  into  his  wife's  ear. 

There  was  a  heavy  step  on  the  path  outside  the 
kitchen  door,  and  then  slowly  it  sounded  on  the 
veranda,  twice. 

They  lifted  their  heads  to  listen. 

"Who  can  it  be?"  whispered  Christina. 

"Awful  night  to  be  out!"  said  Amos. 

Then  while  they  listened,  the  person  who  had  taken 
the  step  knocked  on  the  kitchen  door. 

"Don't  go !"  Christina  clutched  at  him.  She  was  not 
afraid  of  what  might  be  outside.  She  feared  the  in- 
terruption. 

"Certainly  I  shall  go,"  Amos  answered. 

"Then  I'll  go  too." 

They  opened  the  door  together.  The  light  from  the 
kitchen  shone  out  onto  the  black,  gleaming  porch, 


io8  The   Golden   Answer 

revealing  the  figure  of  a  wet  and  shabby  man  whose 
vague  blue  eyes  blinked  in  the  sudden  illumination  that 
streamed  upon  him,  a  man  who  had  not  shaved  his 
gray  beard  for  at  least  a  week,  whose  shoulders 
hunched  and  whose  feet,  if  one  accidentally  glanced  at 
them,  were  quite  unspeakable ;  surely  not  a  man  to  be 
feared. 

He  cleared  his  throat  and  took  something  wet,  pre- 
sumably his  hat,  from  his  head,  too  humbly. 

"Saw  the  light,"  said  he,  too  thickly.  "Could  y' 
give  a  poor  man  the  price  of  a  meal,  say  ?" 

The  water  dripped  from  his  short  buttoned  coat, 
and  a  sudden  dash  of  rain  fell  behind  him,  while  the 
flood  ran  gushing  down  the  lane  to  the  less  respectable, 
the  wholly  unrespectable,  end  of  it.  The  man  stood 
looking  into  the  yellow  and  white  kitchen.  He  was  not 
a  savory  or  romantic  tramp.  He  was  a  somewhat  fur- 
tive, wholly  disheartening  object 

Christina's  reaction,  after  being  startled,  was  rapid. 
It  took  the  form— common  enough — of  irritation. 

"No !"  she  said  sharply  as  Amos  drew  in  his  breath 
to  speak.  "Go  away,  at  once!  Go  to  the  Salvation 
Army." 

And  she  shut  the  door  in  the  object's  face. 

She  and  Amos  looked  at  each  other  before  the  closed 
door,  the  echo  of  whose  slam — it  had  almost  been 
that — seemed  forever  in  dying  away.  They  heard  the 
man,  after  a  too  abject  pause,  shuffle  off  the  veranda, 
and  begin  to  slop  down  the  path.  Still  their  eyes  held. 

She  said  finally:  "Begging  around  at  doors  like  that 
-—suppose  I'd  been  here  alone ! — there's  the  City  Mis- 
sion, and — and  the  Salvation  Army  to  help  people  who 
are — worthy." 

Amos  smiled  at  last.  She  thought  it  had  taken  him 
a  long  time. 


The   Golden   Answer  109 

"I  don't  believe  he  was  worthy  at  all,"  he  conceded 
with  some  humor.  "But  I  was  thinking — maybe  he 
was — married  once!" 

"What?"  she  gasped. 

"Go  upstairs,  Christina,"  ordered  Amos.  "I'm 
going  after  him." 

After  one  look  into  her  husband's  eyes,  Christina,  to 
her  own  astonishment,  obeyed  him.  At  the  door  she 
turned  back. 

"He'll  drip  all  over  the  clean  floor,  and  Johanna's 
hair  is  white,"  she  emphasized  with  indolent  amuse- 
ment. 

"Go  away,"  smiled  Amos. 

She  turned,  and  he  ran  out  into  the  rain. 

The  object  completely  ruined  Johanna's  floor,  and 
washed,  horribly,  in  the  woodshed  sink.  He  gulped 
much  coffee,  and  ate  nothing,  and  went  off  without 
the  price  of  a  meal,  but  with  blue  eyes  less  vague, 
though  dumb  and  puzzled.  He  had  in  his  pocket  the 
address  of  the  Salvation  Army,  and  in  his  dim  brain 
directions  as  to  how  to  find  the  way  there.  He  slopped 
down  Amos  Fortune's  path  up  the  hill,  against  the 
flood. 

Amos  washed  his  own  hands  and  face  and  brushed 
his  clothes  before  going  upstairs.  This  done,  he  went 
up  to  his  room,  which  Christina  had  found  alone,  and 
to  the  chair  where  she  sat  by  the  window,  and  bent  over 
her. 

He  looked  into  her  clear  eyes — puzzled  and  worried, 
yet  sweet — saying: 

"He's  gone  now,  dear." 


CHAPTER  XII 

WHEN  the  suburban  train  pulled  in  at  the  Bramford 
station  Saturday  afternoon  a  month  after  their  return, 
Amos,  through  the  crowd,  saw  Christina  waiting  for 
him  on  the  platform.  She  wore  a  gray  Jersey  sport 
suit,  a  yellow  scarf,  and  a  fluffy  gray  beaver  hat  pulled 
down  over  her  rippling  hair,  heavy  walking  shoes  and 
gray  gauntlet  gloves.  She  was  not  the  only  woman 
on  the  platform  but  she  was  by  far  the  most  beautiful, 
and  the  only  one  dressed  for  a  part.  Amos  saw  that 
she  was  going  to  walk  with  him  into  the  country. 

He  watched  her  dark  eyes  search  for  him  among  the 
returning  husbands,  and  change  when  she  saw  him. 
They  had  changed  like  that  when  she  saw  him  at  their 
wedding.  He  often  thought  of  their  look  then,  as  he 
did  of  the  wedding  itself — in  the  small  village  church 
on  a  sparkling  autumn  afternoon. 

All  of  it  that  was  real  was  Christina's  grave  gray 
eyes  beneath  her  lovely  brows,  under  her  veil,  their 
long,  curious,  detached  look.  He  remembered  the 
enigma  of  them  often.  It  seemed,  sometimes,  to  sym- 
bolize the  enigma  of  the  female,  questioning  him 
solemnly  from  behind  the  veil  of  its  long  shadowy  past 
of  alternating  slavery  and  power,  or  merely  the  enigma 
of  one  woman  whose  contradictions  might  drive  a  man 
to  distraction. 

When  he  joined  Christina  on  the  platform  she 
slipped  her  hand  through  his  arm. 

"We're  going  for  a  country  walk,"  she  told  him. 
"You  had  your  lunch  in  town,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes.    Where's  Harmony?" 
no 


The   Golden   Answer  in 

"She  has  a  cold.  Remember  how  she  sneezed  at 
breakfast?  Johanna  is  doctoring  her,  and  she's  read- 
ing by  the  fire.  Now,  don't  worry!  Shall  we  walk 
out  the  lake  road,  my  good-looking-husband-who-is- 
getting-a-scowl  ?" 

Amos  smiled.  "It's  the  lake  road.  Did  those  bot- 
tomless trousseau  trunks  yield  that  charming  costume  ? 
Christina,  you  forgot  no  possible  scene  we  might  play 
in.  Those  clothes  sprang  full  armed  from  the  brain 
of  somebody  for  the  meeting  and  subjection  of  a  com- 
muting husband  Saturday  noon  in  the  autumn  coun- 
try." 

"Subjection!  Excellent.  I  think  I  remember  your 
ripping  out  one  or  two  orders  not  long  since." 

They  took  the  main  street  that  led  to  the  lake  road. 
Other  people  had  seized  upon  this  as  possibly  the  last 
pleasant  Saturday  of  the  fall  and  were  setting  out  in 
automobiles  or  on  foot.  Christina  and  Amos  nodded 
or  waved  to  their  friends.  But  they  preferred  the 
lonely  walk  to  the  crowded  country  club,  which  Amos 
had  joined. 

"Whom  do  you  suppose  I  saw  on  the  street  this 
morning?"  she  asked  him  demurely,  as  they  swung 
along.  When  he  could  not  guess  she  told  him: 

"Our  tramp!  He  was  all  spruced  up,  and  shaved, 
and  perfectly  sober.  Even  his  shoes  were  shined.  And 
he  was  delivering  parcels  for  Bennett  &  Briggs.  What 
do  you  think  of  that?" 

"Why,  I'm  glad,"  said  Amos,  finding  himself  mys- 
teriously embarrassed. 

She  walked  in  silence,  and  then  confessed  charm- 
ingly: "I  was  sorry  about  that,  dear.  I  shouldn't  have 
— done  what  I  did.  And  yet,  it  seems  queer."  She 
lifted  her  eyes  to  his.  "After  all,  we  both  sent  him  to 
the  same  place,  where  he  got  help/' 


H2  The   Golden  Answer 

"How  do  you  know  we  sent  him  to  the  same  place?" 

"I — I  stopped  him  this  morning  and  asked  him. 
Yes,  I  did.  Had  quite  a  talk  in  the  public  square !  He 
was  awfully  Heepish,"  she  laughed.  "I  have  a  swap 
for  you.  He  said  you  were  a  'lovely  gentleman.' ' 

"Let  us  hope  he'll  keep  his  shoes  shined,"  returned 
Amos,  grimly. 

Amos  was  to  remember  this  afternoon.  The  day 
was  one  of  the  last  of  Indian  summer,  when  the  fields, 
already  brown,  were  hung  with  a  purple  veil  and  tinted 
with  yellow  and  scarlet.  And  the  graceful  presence  by 
his  side  was  like  a  new,  hitherto  unknown  color, 
decorative  and  gay.  He  thought  of  the  time  when  he 
had  told  her,  half  in  earnest,  that  he  wanted  a  com- 
panion of  a  mile,  and  never  dreamed  that  she  would 
walk  these  miles  with  him,  so  sweetly. 

They  took  the  marsh  path  where  he  had  walked  with 
Hilda  Martin.  The  brown  velvety  rushes,  the  shining 
pale  green  reeds,  the  burning  sumac  were  celebrants  in 
the  pageant  of  the  passing  of  the  year. 

As  if  he  were  the  master  of  the  pageant  they  found 
Truebee  Lark  walking  the  marsh  path.  He  uncovered 
his  silvery  head  when  he  saw  Christina  with  Amos 
Fortune.  Amos  stopped  him. 

"Mr.  Lark,"  he  said,  "you  have  grown  yellow  roses 
for  her,  so  you  must  know  her.  This  is  my  wife." 

Truebee  had  been  gazing  at  them  like  some  surprised 
bird  with  its  feathers  ruffled.  Now  he  looked  up  into 
Christina's  face,  for  he  was  shorter  than  she.  His 
old  cheeks  creased  into  a  reluctant  smile,  his  black  eyes 
grew  keen. 

"It's   a   pleasant  work — to   adorn  young   beauty. 
Most  of  my  flowers  live  for  that,  and  I  bring  them 
into  life.    Are  you  very  happy,  my  dear  ?" 
"Yes,"  murmured  Christina,  astonished. 


The   Golden   Answer  113 

"Let  me  tell  you  something,"  went  on  the  old  man, 
still  more  astonishingly.  "Beware  of  decisive  moments 
that  seem  unimportant." 

He  took  Amos  Fortune's  hand. 

"I  hope  it  will  be  worth  it.  ...  Give  my  love  to 
Harmony." 

He  left  them  standing  in  silence.  But  when  he  had 
gone  a  few  steps  farther  along  the  marsh  path  he 
turned. 

"My  sister  Zinnia,"  he  called  back,  "wants  to  rent 
the  top  floor  of  her  miserable  city  house — it's  really  the 
attic.  If  you  know  a  poor  man,  or  a  woman  for  that 
matter,  Zinnia  would  be  glad  to — er — enter  into 
negotiations  with  him  or  her." 

Amos  promised  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  such  a  per- 
son, and  the  little  man  walked  on,  his  head  still 
absently  uncovered,  toward  a  vale  of  crimson  sumac. 

Christina  rubbed  her  cheek,  into  which  more  color 
had  sprung. 

"I  don't  like  that  old  man!  I  thought  you  said  he 
was  delightful.  I  think  he's  odious." 

"He  certainly  was  eccentric  to-day,"  Amos  looked 
troubled.  "He  is  usually  so — gentle !" 

"Have  you  the  least  idea  what  he  was  talking  about  ? 
It  had  a  'Beware  the  Ides  of  March !'  effect." 

"No,  my  pretty -wife -who -is -learning-to-scowl," 
Amos  laughed. 

But  Truebee's  ill-chosen  and  inscrutable  small  talk 
did  not  darken  the  day.  When  they  reached  the  brook, 
that  carried  on  its  crystal  surface  many  leaves,  shining 
wet,  bearing  them  away  in  a  tiny,  brave  armada,  down 
the  long  waterway  of  the  wood  toward  the  wide  river 
and  the  wider  sea,  they  stopped,  while  Amos  pointed 
out  to  Christina  the  stones  that  made  the  easiest  cross- 
ing. This  was  the  brook  at  whose  stepping  stones  he 


114  The    Golden   Answer 

had  given  Hilda  Martin  his  hand;  but  he  did  not 
remember. 

At  the  left  of  the  crossing  was  a  deep,  still  pool 
made  by  the  backwater  of  an  eddy.  He  caught  sight 
of  Christina's  reflection  in  it,  gray  like  the  water,  with 
a  flash  of  gold ;  he  could  even  see  the  dim  crimson  in 
her  cheeks.  He  stopped  and  looked  at  the  woman  in 
the  water,  and  then  brought  out  rich  words  from  his 
prodigious  memory: 

"  'She  was  within  all  nature  everywhere, 

The  breath  I  breathed,  the  brook,  the  flower,  the  grass, 

Were  her,  her  word,  her  beauty,  all  she  was.' ' 

She  turned  sweet  eyes  to  him. 

"Do  I  seem — like  that  to  you,  Amos  ?" 

"Yes." 

"But— just  my  looks?" 

"You! — apart  from  what  you  do,  I  sometimes  think. 
That's  the  mystery." 

"Yes,"  said  Christina  slowly.  And  they  stood  look- 
ing at  each  other.  A  bright  leaf  from  a  maple  red  as 
cinnabar  above  her  head  fluttered  down,  caught  in  her 
soft  hat  brim  and  floated  to  the  ground. 

"I  am  glad  you — feel  that  way.  It  makes  me  safe, 
and  happy.  Amos  dear,  they  say  it  isn't  a  good  thing 
to  be  sure  of  anyone,  but  I  hope  you  won't  change  just 
on  principle!  You  see,  I  feel  sure  of  you!  Perhaps 
you  ought  not  to  let  me.  I  feel  as  if,  if  the  sky  were 
falling,  you  would  hold  up  a  little  piece  with  one  hand 
and  draw  me  under  it,  too,  with  the  other.  Do  you 
think  you  ought  to  let  me  be  so  sure  ?" 

'Til  risk  it!" 

Her  eyes  fell  and,  stooping,  she  picked  up  the  ver- 
milion leaf  and  put  it  in  the  buttonhole  of  his  coat. 


The   Golden   Answer  115 

"Do  you  think  there  is  really  a  mystery  ?  You  think 
love  isn't  plain?" 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"I  think — jye  both  are  going  to  learn  a  great  deal. 
Now,  shall  we  cross  this  brook  ?" 

He  led  the  way  and  she  kept  close  behind  his  foot- 
steps on  the  stones.  He  drew  her  up  the  farther  bank, 
and  when  they  stood  together  he  kissed  her. 

She  laughed  slightly,  and  shut  her  eyes  for  an  instant 
to  clear  a  mist  in  them.  Then  she  took  his  hand  and 
let  him  lead  her  through  the  wood. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AT  five  o'clock  one  fall  afternoon,  not  long  after  the 
return  of  Amos  Fortune  and  Christina,  Hilda  Martin 
was  getting  ready  to  leave  the  South  Sea  House.  She 
still  called  the  old  bank  that,  privately. 

Many  little  incidents  had  happened  there  since 
Amos's  leaving,  that  he  could  easily  have  turned  into 
more  Prismatic  Banking  papers  had  he  known  about 
them.  She  had  thought  of  keeping  notes  herself, 
which  she  would  perhaps  some  day  turn  over  to  him. 
For  to  her  astonishment  her  desire  to  be  of  some  con- 
crete help  to  him,  and  of  course  to  Harmony,  had  not 
automatically  ceased  with  the  date  of  his  wedding. 
But  the  notes  as  yet  were  nothing  more  than  scraps  of 
paper  scrawled  over  with  a  few  penciled  lines  and 
crammed  into  her  pocketbook. 

For  example: 

"Captain  Joel  Mayo's  own  son,  Ethan,  has  fore- 
closed the  mortgage  on  the  Seagull.  Ethan  Mayo  has 
taken  her  himself  beyond  the  Arctic  Circle  and  Captain 
Joel  says  a  Danish  woman  with  pounds  of  frowsy 
yellow  hair  is  with  him.  Captain  Joel  has  gone  to  the 
Sailors'  Home,  where  he  has  a  room  about  eight  feet 
square  with  nothing  in  it  but  a  cot,  one  chair,  and  a 
photograph  of  the  Seagull.  All  he  says  is  that  Ethan 
was  such  a  neat  little  boy,  he  doesn't  see  how  he  can 
stand  that  hair!" 

Hilda  smiled  as  she  pulled  out  that  scrap  of  soiled 
paper,  unfolded  it  to  see  what  it  was,  and  stuffed  it 
back  into  her  purse  again.  "Amos  could  write  that 
quite  perfectly— some  day  I'll  give  it  to  him,"  she 

1 16 


The   Golden  Answer  117 

thought,  and  then  remembered  that  since  she  never  saw 
him  any  more  it  might  be  that  such  a  simple  thing  as 
that  would  be  impossible! 

She  pulled  on  her  gloves,  threw  a  glance  at  the  patch 
of  sky  visible  above  the  Bridge  to  see  what  the 
weather  was,  and  emerged,  with  a  crowd  of  dusty  and 
blinking  fellow  creatures,  into  the  blue  light  of  the 
fall  afternoon  and  the  turmoil  of  the  streets  under  the 
giant  Bridge. 

To  Hilda  the  Bridge  meant  her  father  and  other 
"gentlemen  unafraid" — men  who  won  in  battles  of  all 
sorts.  Now  she  looked  up  at  it  once,  darted  across  the 
street  before  a  team  of  brewery  horses,  cut  behind  a 
taxicab,  and  made  for  the  opposite  curbing.  What  she 
actually  had  in  mind  at  the  moment  when  the  big 
siren  horn  shrieked  in  her  ear  was  the  time  Amos 
probably  got  home  from  the  office  of  the  New  Firm, 
and  where  he  took  the  subway.  .  .  . 

Besides  the  deafening  siren  she  heard  several  people 
shout,  including,  from  the  curbstone,  rusty  little  Mr. 
Dibbon  of  the  Bank,  whose  voice  she  had  scarcely  ever 
heard  above  a  whisper.  She  wondered  if  there  were 
an  accident,  and  swung  around  to  the  right  just  in 
time  to  clasp  the  radiator  of  a  big,  deadly-quiet  motor 
car  and  dance  backward  with  it  a  few  steps  to  keep 
from  falling  under  it.  Then  she  and  the  car  stopped, 
and  she  found  herself  laughing  shakily  up  into  the 
white  face  of  the  man  leaning  over  the  wheel  as  if  he 
would  hold  the  car  back  with  the  strength  of  his  hands. 
The  man  was  Charles  Mo  watt  Brent. 

"Good  God!"  shouted  C.  M.  above  the  uproar,  "is 
that  your  usual  method  of  crossing  the  street,  Miss 
Martin?" 

He  got  out  of  the  car  and  came  to  where  she  stood ; 
he  felt  of  both  her  arms  as  if  to  see  if  any  bones  were 


n8  The   Golden   Answer 

broken.  She  shook  her  head  silently  all  at  once  with- 
out any  reason,  voiceless. 

A  crowd  began  to  gather,  and  the  big  car  was  block- 
ing traffic.  A  very  large  policeman  was  hurrying 
toward  them  with  wrath  in  his  eye.  He  seemed  to  be 
biting  back  profanity  as  he  gesticulated,  for  all  he  said 
was,  with  crushing  sarcasm,  "Here,  you  guy,  take  the 
lady  around  the  corner  to  apologize !  And  be  damned 
quick  about  it.  This  ain't  no  park  bench." 

"Get  in,"  said  C.  M.  to  Hilda  in  a  low  tone,  knowing 
better  than  to  talk  back  to  the  law.  "I  was  looking  for 
you,  though  not  with  murderous  intentions." 

Under  the  eyes  of  the  crowd,  which  was  glutton- 
ously interested  in  this  turn  of  events  and  too  free  with 
an  interchange  of  winks,  he  helped  her  into  the  great 
throbbing  car.  Hilda  saw  old  Mr.  Dibbon  walk  away 
with  a  worried  look,  and  some  of  the  girls  from  the 
bank  give  her  envious,  some  shocked,  glances.  She 
sighed  (wishing  that  the  world  were  higher-minded) 
as  she  settled  down  beside  Charles  Brent  and  was 
wrapped  in  his  rug  by  his  large,  strong  hands.  And 
then,  having  a  sense  of  humor,  she  laughed. 

The  laugh  delighted  Mr.  Brent.  When  he  had,  in 
obedience  to  the  traffic  ordinance,  whisked  her  around 
the  corner,  he  slowed  down  again. 

"You  game  little  thing!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  was 
all  ready  to  offer  you  my  hankey.  Sure  you're  not 
going  to  cry?" 

"Perfectly  sure!"  she  promised,  "and,  anyhow,  I 
have  a  clean  handkerchief,  folded  small,  in  each  coat 
pocket." 

He  continued  to  be  delighted,  and  his  eyes  peered 
ahead  down  the  street  with  an  expression  pleasant  to 
see. 

"I'll  bet  you  have,  and  your  hat's  the  kind  that  won't 


The   Golden   Answer  119 

blow  off.  Now,  isn't  it?  I'll  bet  you  won't  have 
to  clutch  it  and  duck  your  head." 

"This  one,"  said  Hilda,  amused,  "happens  to  be  that 
kind." 

"Of  course  I  know,"  C.  M.  explained,  "that  all  girls 
have  hats  to  motor  in;  it's  when  you  pick  them  up 
unprepared  that  they  clutch  and  duck. 

"I  thought  I'd  never  find  your  place,"  he  continued, 
as  Hilda  only  smiled.  "Got  Fortune  to  give  me  the 
address.  You  forgot  to  tell  me  when  I  asked  you  the 
other  day.  But  I  took  the  wrong  turn  two  blocks 
below.  I  was  looking  around  for  numbers,  that  was 
how  I  happened  not  to  see  you." 

"And  I,"  said  Hilda,  "had  been  looking  up  at  the 
Bridge,  so  I  didn't  see  you.  Sometimes  it  makes  one 
rather— dizzy !" 

"Look  here,"  he  turned  to  her,  "if  it  affects  you  that 
way  don't  do  it  any  more !  Why,  there  at  the  crowded 
crossing  you  might,  you  might  .  .  .  Promise  me  you 
won't  do  it  any  more !" 

"It  would  be  rather  ridiculous,"  said  Hilda,  in  a 
quiet  'sensible*  voice,  "for  me  to  promise  you  never, 
never  to  look  at  the  Bridge  again,  wouldn't  it?  I 
shouldn't  keep  the  promise,  anyway." 

"You  know  the  sort  of  promise  I  mean,"  said  C.  M. 
"Don't  look  at  it  when  it  would  be  dangerous." 

"I'll  think  about  that,  Mr.  Brent,"  Hilda  smiled 
strangely.  .  .  .  "Where  are  we  going?" 

"I'm  going  to  take  you  the  long  way  home.  This  air 
will  do  you  good.  Great  air.  Crisp.  Not  too  cold. 
I've  got  an  extra  coat  for  you,  though.  Here,  you  put 
it  on.  Yes,  you  do  need  it.  I  know.  You  put  it  on. 
Here,  here,  that's  the  wrong  armhole.  Now  there  you 
are!  Button  it  under  your  chin.  Just  as  soon  as  I 
can  I'll  let  her  out.  This  old  car  can  go! 


I2O  The   Golden   Answer 

The  car  could  go,  though  at  first  its  powers  were 
demonstrated  only  in  spurts  as  they  wound,  twisted, 
and  dodged  from  east  to  west.  C.  M.  preferred  ap- 
parently to  go  up  the  west  side,  for  he  crossed  to  lower 
Greenwich  village  and  they  swept  up  Greenwich  Ave- 
nue and  Seventh  Avenue  and  even  farther  west.  There, 
Hilda  accidentally  caught  sight  of  Miss  Zinnia  Lark's 
house  on  Jane  Street,  over  near  the  river,  a  fat-looking 
red  brick  house  with  a  dilapidated  door.  As  they 
passed  it,  from  a  neighboring  pier,  the  voice  of  an  un- 
seen ship  musically  drowsed  four  bells.  Hilda  smiled 
at  the  thought  of  Miss  Lark  sitting  down  alone  to 
supper  at  that  summons,  punctually  content.  No  doubt 
she  and  Truebee  were  wise  in  their  independence. 

Farther  uptown — C.  M.  still  kept  to  the  west  to 
avoid  traffic — in  the  dingy  and  tawdry  forties,  another 
house  detached  itself  from  the  unending  rows  and 
sprang  forward  into  Hilda's  view.  This  was  a  "re- 
constructed" five-story  brick  house,  with  window 
boxes,  frilled  white  curtains  and  a  beautiful  white 
doorway  that  might  have  been  in  Salem.  Such  beauty 
and  cleanliness  were  rare  in  that  region.  With  a 
sudden  thought  Hilda  leaned  forward  and  peered  in 
the  fading  light  at  plain  gold  letters  on  that  door.  "The 
House  of  Hope"  she  read.  She  glanced  at  the  big 
plain  man  beside  her,  into  whose  cheeks  the  wind  had 
whipped  a  fresh  color. 

"That's  the  house  I've  heard  about/*  she  thought. 
"That's  the  'Refuge.'  How  nice  of  him  to  have  such 
a  beautiful  door!" 

Then  she  shrank  back,  shivered  at  a  memory  of  a 
dingy  bit  of  paper — and  tried  to  think  of  something 
else.  Charles  Brent  turned  to  her: 

"Are  you  cold?" 

"A  little." 


The   Golden   Answer  121 

He  stopped  the  car  and  finding  a  blue  muffler  folded 
it  around  her  shoulders,  crossed  it  in  front  and  tied  it 
in  the  back. 

"Now  you  look  like  a  little  boy,"  he  laughed.  "Do 
you  know,  Miss  Martin,  you  are  the  queerest  sort  of 
combination  girl.  You  give  a  man  the  feeling  that 
you  need  to  be  taken  care  of,  and  at  the  same  time  he 
knows  that  you  can  take  care  of  yourself  extraor- 
dinarily well!" 

"I  hope  I've  learned  how,"  she  answered.  "I'd  be 
awfully  stupid  if  I  hadn't  by  this  time." 

She  was  thinking  as  they  left  the  house  with  the 
white  door  far  behind: 

"He's  a  good  man." 

At  last  they  crossed  over  and  sped  through  the  Park, 
a  Corot  park  of  dusky  distances,  feathery  green, 
changed  quickly  into  night  shadows.  And  finally  they 
turned  again  and  came  out  on  the  Drive  by  the  edge  of 
the  deep  turquoise  river,  which  was  studded  with 
orange  lights  and  above  which  an  autumn  crescent 
moon  was  setting.  A  battleship  brooded  at  anchor  in 
midstream  and  twinkled  conversation  to  a  foreign 
trader. 

Hilda,  leaning  back,  warm  and  rested,  was  swept  up 
the  river  not  too  fast  for  enjoyment.  And  she  ex- 
perienced some  of  the  cheering  possibilities  of  material 
comfort  and  luxury.  She  had  been  depressed,  perhaps 
still  was,  but  this  depression  was  easier  to  bear,  more 
possible  to  throw  off,  in  a  comfortable  car  while  gliding 
through  the  crisp  autumn  evening  than  while  standing 
in  a  swaying  subway  train,  jammed  to  the  doors.  She 
smiled  somewhat  bitterly  at  the  ancient  story  of  the 
beggar  who  replied  to  the  rich  man's  statement  that  he 
too  had  many  troubles:  "Yep,  boss,  but  I  ain't  got 
nothin'  else!" 


122  The    Golden   Answer 

So  the  silent  car  took  her  the  long  way  home. 

On  the  steps  of  the  brown  house  on  the  side  street, 
Hilda,  as  she  gave  Mr.  Brent  her  hand,  had  an  impulse 
and  acted  on  it.  A  strange  expression  in  his  eyes  when 
he  looked  down  at  her  gave  her  the  impulse.  She 
remembered  that  he  lived  with  two  elder  sisters,  one 
a  widow  and  one  unmarried,  who,  if  rumor  were  true, 
quarreled  with  violence  and  stupidity,  especially  at 
meals.  To  put  it  more  correctly,  they  lived  with  him, 
having,  because  of  old  feuds  and  rancors  been  "cut  off" 
in  their  father's  will.  The  widowed  lady,  Mrs.  Ash- 
mun,  had  a  small  life  insurance  which  was  the  cause 
of  the  envy  of  her  younger  sister.  Both  resented 
C.  M.'s  charitable  hobbies,  though  he  provided  amply 
for  his  sisters,  and,  being  much  younger,  could  reason- 
ably be  supposed  to  outlive  them,  so  that  they  could 
not  expect  to  inherit  his  fortune,  however  diminished 
by  charity.  Now  it  flashed  over  Hilda  that  this  kind 
man  would  enjoy  a  meal  with  two  women  who  loved 
each  other.  With  perfect  unselfconsciousness  she 
asked  him  in. 

"Come  in  and  stay  to  supper  with  us.  I  think 
Mother  will  have  hot  biscuits." 

C.  M.  beamed  until  the  corners  of  his  eyes  crinkled. 

"That's  awfully  kind — awfully  kind,"  he  kept  re- 
peating. "May  I  really?" 

Mrs.  Martin  did  have  hot  biscuits,  with  honey,  also 
a  mysterious  but  succulent  meat  pie  known  to  econom- 
ical housekeepers  as  "Toad  in  the  Hole,"  besides 
salad  for  which  Hilda  made  the  French  dressing. 
There  were  coffee  and  cookies  for  dessert. 

C.  M.,  who  had  met  Mrs.  Martin  before,  appeared  to 
be  bursting  with  happiness.  They  had  agreed  not  to 
tell  Hilda's  mother  about  the  collision  between  the  big 
car  and  the  small  girl,  so  nothing  agitated  Mrs. 


The   Golden   Answer  123 

Martin's  maternal  cheeriness.  She  trotted  back  and 
forth  in  her  plain  black  dress  with  white  lawn  collar 
and  cuffs  and  a  big  white  apron,  smiling,  completely 
undisturbed  and  unimpressed  by  the  unheralded  advent 
of  a  rich  young  man  to  supper.  The  only  change  made 
in  their  routine  was  when  Hilda  put  candles  on  the 
table,  and  she  sometimes  did  that  when  they  were 
alone.  C.  M.  sat  in  the  "front  room,"  out  of  which 
the  dining-room  opened  by  a  wide  curtained  arch,  and 
watched  their  preparations,  later  being  allowed  to  help. 

After  Hilda  had  run  upstairs  to  wash  her  hands  and 
face,  she  set  the  table. 

"I'm  so  glad  we've  got  Toad  in  the  Hole,"  she 
called  to  her  mother  in  the  kitchen.  "I'm  hungry  after 
my  ride.  And,  you  blessed  little  lamb-pie,  you've  got 
extra  gravy." 

"I  hope  Mr.  Trent  is  hungry,  too,"  came  Mrs.  Mar- 
tin's voice  from  beyond.  "There's  plenty  of  every- 
thing. Run  down-cellar  and  bring  up  some  of  my 
sweet  pickle,  pussy." 

"Brent,  Mother."  Hilda  threw  a  smile  at  C.  M. 
"He  looks  wolfish  to  me.  It's  woe  to  the  Toad.  Did 
you  ever  have  one?"  she  asked  him. 

C.  M.  looked  startled. 

"Er — no.    But  frogs'  legs.    I  know  those." 

"Not  to  be  compared,  my  dear  sir!" 

She  made  him  come  out  and  light  the  candles  and 
draw  up  the  chairs.  They  were  "Golden  Oak"  chairs, 
and  battered ;  the  sideboard  of  the  same  wood  showed 
the  marks  of  many  movings;  the  carpet  on  the  floor 
was  "rag"  and  not  of  the  most  artistic  design;  there 
was  a  picture  over  Mrs.  Martin's  work  table  of  Christ 
Before  Pilate,  with  one  corner  of  the  frame  chipped 
off.  But  under  the  soft  glow  of  the  candles  and  from 
a  yellow  lamp  standing  in  a  corner,  the  room  with  the 


124  The    Golden   Answer 

fresh  white  tablecloth  and  pink  flowered  plates  was 
full  of  a  grace  that  Charles  Brent's  home  lacked. 

They  all  talked  together  after  supper  while  Mrs. 
Martin  sewed  on  a  new  dress  for  Hilda.  She  showed 
it  to  Mr.  Brent.  It  was  dark  green  serge  with  a  jaunty 
little  rolling  collar  of  green  satin. 

"It's  very  pretty,"  he  said,  feeling  of  the  cloth  be- 
tween his  thumb  and  ringer.  "Is  it  warm  enough  for 
winter?" 

Hilda  laughed,  but  she  liked  him  for  saying  that. 

He  left  at  ten  o'clock,  after  Mrs.  Martin  had  thought 
she  concealed  a  yawn.  When  Hilda  saw  that  the  little 
lady  was  not,  after  the  American  habit,  going  to  leave 
them  alone  together,  she  knew  that  her  mother  under- 
stood her  even  more  delicately  and  beautifully  than  she 
had  ever  dreamed.  (If  she  had  left  them  alone  that 
would  have  acknowledged  something  which,  just  now, 
was  unthinkable. ) 

But  at  the  door  Charles  Brent  startled  her. 

Hilda  had  shut  the  front-room  door  to  keep  the 
draught  from  Mrs.  Martin,  who  caught  cold  easily. 
C.  M.  bulked  large  in  the  tiny  hall,  which,  because  of 
the  lodgers'  muddy  boots,  had  linoleum  on  the  floor  and 
smelt  slightly  of  that  article.  He  looked,  somehow, 
plainer  than  ever.  But  she  saw  that  when  he  smiled 
his  features  all  seemed  to  crease  together  in  lines  that 
were  heartwarming.  He  caught  her  hand  and  spoke 
shyly : 

"I've  had  a  great  time,  great,  really.  You  don't 
know  what  a — a — great  time  I've  had !" 

It  did  not  irritate  her  that  he  could  think  of  no  other 
word. 

Then  his  smile  left  him  and  she  saw  the  face  of  the 
man  who  had  leaned  over  the  steering  wheel. 

"My  dear  child— what  if  I  couldn't  have  stopped! 


The   Golden  Answer  125 

What  if  some  day — somebody  can't — stop — in  time! 
Will  you  be — very  careful?" 

"Yes,  I  will  be,"  she  promised.  And  then  it  was 
that  Charles  Brent  startled  her.  He  lifted  her  hand  to 
his  cheek  and  held  it  there  a  moment  before  noisily 
bolting  out  of  the  street  door. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

IN  the  passing  of  their  first  winter  together  there 
were  for  Amos  and  Christina  days  of  readjustment. 
As  Christina  had  said,  they  both  had  much  to 
learn.  However,  contrary  to  well-worn  expecta- 
tion and  to  the  prophecy  of  Christina's  friends, 
Harmony  did  not  prove  to  be  a  special  problem 
between  them.  She  went  right  on  growing  in  her 
busy,  exact  little  way  from  plump  seven  to  slimmer 
eight,  adoring  Amos  and  accepting  Christina  as  a  good 
fortune  stepped  out  of  a  fairy  book.  At  first  she  loved 
her  shyly,  and  later  with  a  warm,  kittenlike,  instinctive 
gravitation  to  her,  because  she  was  a  woman  of  the 
age  to  be  her  mother. 

"Will  it  be  like  having  a  mother?"  she  had  asked 
Amos. 

"I  hope  so,"  he  had  told  her.  "Would  you  like 
that?" 

"Oh,  very  much.  Most  children  seem  to  have 
them,"  said  Harmony. 

She  was  becoming  a  thoughtful  little  thing  with  a 
reflective,  reserved  look  in  her  brown  eyes  to  balance 
the  increasing  length  of  her  legs.  There  was  some- 
thing irresistibly  exquisite  and  also  pathetic  about  this 
emergence  from  babyhood  into  childhood. 

"If  Christina  had  come  to  live  with  us  a  long  time 
ago — before  I  was  born — would  she  have  been  my 
mother  and  would  you  have  been  my  father?"  she 
asked  him. 

"I  don't  know  how  to  answer  that,  darling,"  said 
126 


The   Golden   Answer  127 

Anmos,  holding  her  close,  "I'm  not  wise  enough.    But 
I  think  perhaps  God  would  have  let  it  be  so." 

"Don't  you  suppose  God  could  arrange  it  now?" 

"I'm  afraid  not." 

"But  you  told  me  He  could  do  anything !" 

"Did  ir 

"Yes."  She  looked  precociously  thoughtful,  saw  the 
issue,  and  turned  to  him  with  faith.  "I  wish  you  would 
explain  that  to  me." 

"God  willed,"  said  Amos,  wildly  hoping  not  to  go 
astray  too  far,  "because  He  can  will  anything,  that 
men  and  women  and  children  should  have  the  freedom 
to  choose  what  they  want  to  do;  and  after  they  have 
chosen,  the  results  of  their  acts  go  right  on  happening 
in  a  logical  way ;  and  God  does  not  will  to  change  those 
results,  because  then  we  shouldn't  know  how  to  choose 
another  time,  and  neither  would  our  children  or  our 
friends.  The  only  thing  that  can  change  those  results, 
if  they  are  sad  and  tragic,  and  need  to  be  changed,  is 
the  good  choices  later  of  the  same  people,  or  of  other 
people.  That  helps  straighten  out  things  a  bit  some- 
times, though  not  always.  And  good  choices  are  the 
spirit  of  God  in  people  coming  out.  But  it's  their  own 
affair  whether  they  let  it  come  out  or  not.  Do  you 
understand  ?" 

Harmony  put  the  tip  of  her  finger  between  her 
eyebrows  in  a  way  she  had  when  she  did  her  arith- 
metic or  learned  her  spelling  lesson.  She  used  to  put 
it  in  her  mouth,  and  this  was  a  substitute. 

"I  think  so."    She  was  silent,  her  brain  busy.    Then: 

"Then  you  didn't  choose  to  be  my  father?"  Her  eyes 
were  hurt. 

"You've  a  good  little  head,  dear,"  said  Amos  sadly ; 
"that's  a  logical  conclusion.  But  don't  you  see,  in  one 
of  those  later  choices  I  did  decide  you  should  be  my 


128  The   Golden  Answer 

child.  Haven't  you  been  mine  ever  since  you  could 
remember?" 

She  sat  up  straight  on  his  knee  and  a  smile  lighted 
her  little  face.  She  flung  out  her  arms  wide  and  then 
clasped  them  around  his  neck,  laughing. 

"Oh,  I  see,  I  see!  Isn't  it  perfectly  heavenly?  I 
am  your  own !" 

Christina  accepted  Harmony  as  simply  as  Harmony 
accepted  her.  She  petted  the  child  and  saw  to  her  wel- 
fare as  she  would  have  done  if  she  had  found  a  kitten 
or  a  puppy  one  of  Amos  Fortune's  household.  Chris- 
tina was  a  woman  who  would  passionately  love  her 
own  child,  but  was  only  picturesquely  fond  of  and 
amused  at  other  people's  children.  She  left  the  in- 
timate care  of  Harmony  to  Johanna,  merely  seeing  to  it 
meticulously  that  Amos's  wishes  in  regard  to  her  were 
carried  out.  She  was  pleased  that  Harmony  loved  her. 
The  withholding  of  admiration  or  love  from  Christina 
bewildered,  irritated  and  hurt  her.  She  did  not  think 
very  much  about  the  peculiarity  of  her  husband's  hav- 
ing, alone,  brought  up  a  child,  the  daughter  of  a  friend 
whom  he  never  named.  He  was  so  different  from 
anyone  else  she  had  known  before,  and  her  loving  and 
marrying  him  were  such  a  dramatic  departure  from 
her  whole  plan  of  life  that  when  she  accepted  him  at 
all  she  accepted  all  of  him — at  first. 

The  readjustments  grew  rather  out  of  the  fact  that 
each  had  adopted  a  new  way  of  living  and  had  to 
become  used  to  it.  For  Amos,  instead  of  the  irksome 
but  steady  grind  at  the  South  Sea  House  with  every 
spare  moment  devoted,  without  question,  to  writing 
and  to  Harmony,  a  settled  order  in  which  poverty  was 
a  thing  accepted  with  dignity  and  immediately  forgot- 
ten, there  began  a  regime  in  which  he  must  become 
accustomed  to  a  new  business,  must  be  very  much 


The   Golden   Answer  129 

aware  of  the  amount  of  money  coming  in  and  going 
out  of  his  own  purse,  and  in  which  his  spare  time  was 
cut  into  far  smaller  fractions — time  for  Christina,  time 
for  her  friends  and  their  entertaining,  for  Harmony, 
for  writing,  business  plans  and  financial  problems. 
Christina's  readjustment  was  from  a  life  of  no  respon- 
sibility, alternating  between  the  homes  of  an  indulgent 
grandmother  and  an  indifferent  aunt,  a  life  in  which 
there  had  been  a  succession  of  young  men,  who  were 
looked  upon  as  fair  game  if  they  chose  to  risk  the 
snare.  It  was  not  an  unhealthy  life  because  so  much  of 
it  was  spent  out  of  doors,  but  imagination  and  work 
had  no  part  in  it.  It  was  a  concrete  existence.  There 
were  no  abstractions,  no  give  and  take  of  finer  things, 
no  close  distinctions  of  thought.  She  did  not  always 
understand  what  Amos  was  talking  about.  That  fact 
was  one  source  of  his  impression  on  her  mind. 

Her  attitude  toward  money,  also,  was  foreign  to  his. 
He  was  indifferent  to  it  constitutionally,  equally  sur- 
prised by  its  presence  or  absence.  She  took  money  for 
granted  and  liked  to  spend  it,  yet  respected  it  enough 
to  guard  carefully  the  source  of  supply.  She  watched 
little  rather  than  important  expenditures.  Where 
money  was  concerned  there  was  an  incongruous  touch 
of  unloveliness  in  Christina. 

It  was  this  importance  she  attached  to  money  that 
caused  her  to  be  so  shaken  by  what  happened  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Hoyle  in  the  middle  of  the  winter. 

One  afternoon  Amos  had  come  from  the  city  on  an 
early  train,  by  Christina's  request,  since  they  were 
entertaining  guests  for  dinner.  Yet  when  he  reached 
home  he  found  that  she  was  not  there. 

"She  has  been  up  at  Uncle  Bells's  all  the  afternoon," 
said  Harmony.  Uncle  Bells  was  what  they  privately 
called  the  husband  of  the  Woman  with  Rings  on  Her 


130  The   Golden  Answer 

Fingers.  "I  thought  she  would  be  back  long  ago,  and 
Johanna  and  I  have  some  tea  ready  for  her,  because 
dinner  will  be  so  late.  You  drink  some,  Amos.  The 
kettle  has  been  lighted  so  long  it  will  go  out  and  we'll 
have  to  put  more  alcohol  in.  See  Johanna's  teeny 
biscuits  all  buttered,  and  they're  getting  cold !" 

Amos  drank  the  tea  gratefully.  He  had  had  a 
tiresome  day,  and  wished  his  guests  would  all  be 
stricken  with  slight  illnesses  and  be  obliged  to  stay  at 
home.  He  thought  they  probably  would  have  indiges- 
tion anyway  if  they  came,  for  Johanna's  genius  for 
cooking,  combined  with  Christina's  ideas  of  a  good 
menu,  would  lure  anyone  to  destruction.  A  vague  un- 
easiness, emanating  from  a  fleeting  thought  of  the 
grocery  bill,  settled  on  him,  so  he  drank  three  cups  of 
tea,  strong,  to  drive  it  away,  and  timed  himself  to  a 
half-hour's  rest  on  the  sofa  before  the  fire. 

"Mrs.  Sweeny  has  just  been  here,"  went  on  Har- 
mony, sitting  down  on  the  rug  by  him.  "She  has  been 
up  at  Aunt  Bells's  ironing,  and  she  came  down  to  tell 
Johanna  that  Mamie,  that's  one  of  the  maids,  said 
Aunt  Bells  had  been  crying  all  the  afternoon  and  Uncle 
Bells  is  swearing,  and  Christina  is  with  them." 

"Well,  if  that's  the  case,  Harmony,  we'll  hear  all 
about  it  when  Christina  comes  home.  Don't  ever  be 
rude  to  Johanna,  but  when  she  and  Sweeny  women 
gossip  to  you,  tell  them  I've  told  you  not  to  listen.  I 
forbid  it." 

"Why  they  just  tell  me  what's  happening,"  said 
Harmony.  "What  do  you  mean — gossip  ?" 

"Repeating  other  people's  affairs  and  guessing  at  an 
explanation.  It  turns  into  malicious  lying." 

"Oh,  Amos,  Johanna  wouldn't  ever  tell  lies." 

"Not  intentionally." 


The   Golden   Answer  131 

"Well,  anyway,  what  do  you  suppose  Aunt  Bells  is 
crying  about?  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think " 

"Harmony, — for  the  love  of  heavenly  Artemis,  don't 
grow  up !" 

Harmony  looked  into  his  eyes,  found  them  smiling, 
giggled  a  little,  took  his  hand,  and  said : 

"  'Heavenly  Artemis' — it  sounds  just  like  poetry." 

"Can  you  make  up  a  line  for  me  ?" 

Up  went  the  finger  to  the  meeting  of  her  eyebrows. 
Then  from  the  background  of  fairy  tale  and  mythol- 
ogy that  was  Amos's  gift  to  her  sprang  out  the  fresh, 
childish  image  that  was  her  own. 

"Heavenly  Artemis  hid  herself  in  a  birch  tree,"  said 
Harmony,  triumphant.  "Now  you  do  one!" 

"Oh — ah — well — how's  this :  Smiling  Artemis,  safe 
from  the  west  wind's  greeting — " 

"Isn't  this  fun?  Wait!  Now  it's  my  turn." 
Solemn  pause.  .  .  .  "And  the  wind  said,  'I  love  you, 
little  white  tree.' ' 

With  shrills  of  laughter  Harmony  put  her  head 
down  on  his  arm. 

"Was  that  really  poetry,  Amos?" 

"You  embarrass  me,  Peaseblossom.  I  will  withhold 
from  you  the  cruel  truth." 

"It  isn't  cruel  or  you  wouldn't  look  at  me  that  way !" 

At  this  moment  Christina  came  in. 

She  came  bringing  a  cold,  fresh  breath  from  the 
outer  air,  and  with  snowflakes  still  clinging  to  her. 
She  did  not  greet  either  of  them,  but  slipped  silently 
out  of  her  coat  with  Amos's  aid.  Her  face  looked  wor- 
ried and  her  hands  moved  nervously  as  she  slipped  her 
rings  back  and  forth  on  her  fingers.  Instead  of  going 
immediately  upstairs  to  dress — though  she  never  could 
have  too  long  a  time  for  that — she  threw  herself  into 


132  The   Golden   Answer 

Amos's  chair  by  the  lamp  and  stared  at  nothing.  He 
bent  over  her  and  took  her  hand,  anxious  by  this  time ; 
but  she  drew  it  away,  irritably. 

"Don't !"  she  said,  in  a  tone  that  shocked  them  both. 

"What  is  it?    Something  has  happened." 

Christina  put  her  hands  up  to  her  forehead  and 
pushed  her  hair  back  wearily. 

"I  should  say  something  had  happened,"  she  an- 
swered, after  a  silence  in  which  both  Amos  and  Har- 
mony waited. 

"I  suppose  I  might  as  well  tell  you  now.  Uncle 
Benton  has  lost  money,  a  lot  of  his  own  and  most  of 
Aunt  Bertha's  with  it.  As  far  as  I  can  see,  it's  just 
vanished,  fallen  into  a  bottomless  pit.  Two  companies 
he  was  in  have  failed.  It  seems  this  is  a  hard  winter. 
I'm  sure  I  didn't  know  it  was  so  hard.  Everybody 
seems  to  get  along.  ...  I  think  it  was  stupid  of 
Uncle  Benton  to  let  his  companies  fail.  Why  didn't 
he  put  more  money  into  them  so  they  wouldn't  fail, 
or  do  something?" 

After  her  first  words,  Amos's  face  had  cleared. 

"Thank  goodness,  it's  only  money !  I  thought  some- 
body might  be  terribly  ill." 

She  gave  him  a  queer  look  across  the  table,  where 
she  sat  with  the  lamplight  on  her  tumbled  hair.  A 
line  was  upright  between  her  eyebrows.  Her  eyes  in 
that  glance  were  as  if  she  were  taking  the  measure  of 
a  stranger. 

"Only  money?"  she  inquired  in  a  clear,  cool  voice. 

"It's  bad  to  lose  it,  very  bad,"  he  said  gravely,  "of 
course.  But  they  might  be  going  to  lose  each  other. 
Uncle  Benton  has  looked  ill  lately.  Poor  man,  I'm 
sorry.  But  he  has  your  aunt  to  help  him  through. 
They  make  fun  of  each  other,  but  I  have  often  thought 
that  they  are  still  in  love." 


The   Golden   Answer  133 

Christina  continued  to  look  irritated }  she  was  tired 
from  the  strain  of  the  afternoon.  They  were  in  no 
state,  either  of  them,  to  talk  together  about  anything 
unpleasant  or  vital.  Her  voice  sounded  harsh  as  she 
said  sharply: 

"You  are  singularly  unsympathetic  where  my  rela- 
tives are  concerned." 

"Christina!  Just  now  you  blamed  your  uncle  for 
his  misfortune.  Have  I  done  that?" 

"At  least  I'm  not  casual !  I  hate  people  who  say  it 
might  have  been  worse.  Anybody  might  die,  naturally. 
That's  beside  the  point.  I  should  think,  if  you  were 
going  to  try  to  write  books,  you  would  make  an  attempt 
at  being  logical.  Uncle  Benton  was  careless ;  he  must 
have  been,  to  lose  so  much.  And  some  of  it  didn't 
belong  to  him.  I  mean  it  was  Aunt  Bertha's.  If  he 
had  been  a  little  more  careless — supposing  he  had  lost 
mine!" 

Amos  suddenly  walked  to  the  fire  and  stood  looking 
at  it.  Then  he  said  in  a  dry  tone: 

"To  my  illogical  literary  mind  it  sounds  as  if  you 
were  saying,  'It  might  have  been  worse.'  " 

She  passed  that  by. 

"Oh,  I  haven't  much,  but  I  should  hate  to  lose  what 
little  I  have — under  the  circumstances." 

He  turned  quickly  and  looked  at  her,  but  she  sat 
with  her  chin  in  her  hand  and  did  not  notice.  He  drew 
a  deep  breath,  shaking  back  his  shoulders  as  if  to  be 
rid  of  an  annoying  cloak,  and  walked  over  to  the 
window.  He  stood  looking  oiit  at  the  now  fast  falling 
snow,  which  floated  down  in  the  oval  of  light  under  the 
street  lamp.  It  crossed  his  mind  that  he  ought  to 
shovel  the  path  before  the  dinner  guests  came.  But 
chiefly  he  was  thinking:  What  would  she  have  done  if 
this  had  happened  to  me  ? 


134  The    Golden   Answer 

He  turned  around  at  last  toward  Christina,  though 
he  still  stood  unmoved,  so  to  speak,  by  the  window. 

"My  dear,  is  there  anything  that  you  need — I  mean 
that  you  want — that  you  haven't  the  money  to  get — 
out  of  your  half  this  month  ?  Within  reason  of  course ; 
because  I  can  manage " 

After  a  moment  of  silence,  in  which  she  sat  motion- 
less, still  with  her  chin  on  her  palm  and  her  bright  hair 
falling  over  her  tired  face,  she  slowly  looked  around 
at  him.  Their  eyes  met  and  held  across  the  room.  He 
had  looked  stern  when  he  asked  the  question,  but  at 
the  end  of  their  long  investigating  glance  he  smiled  a 
little. 

Suddenly  and  surprisingly  she  burst  into  tears. 
Taught  by  an  obscure  instinct  he  let  her  cry  without 
going  to  comfort  her.  He  turned  back  to  watching  the 
snow  deepen  on  the  path  and  front  steps.  But  Har- 
mony, who  had  all  this  time  been  wide-eyed  on  the 
sofa,  ran  to  her. 

"Don't  cry,  Christina,"  she  begged.  "Amos  will 
bring  you  something  to-morrow  night.  I  know  he 
will."  In  a  whisper,  "Sh-sh  now — I'll  ask  him  to." 

Christina  laughed  hysterically. 

"No,  I  don't  want  him  to  bring  me  anything. 
Run  away  and  get  Johanna  to  give  you  your  supper. 
I  must  dress." 

Harmony  drew  back,  puzzled. 

Amos  said  from  the  window,  "Go  now,  Harmony. 
Johanna  will  be  busy  later.  Come  and  kiss  me  first." 

"Of  course,"  said  Harmony. 

She  hopped  in  a  little  running  skip  over  to  him  and 
kissed  him  with  a  squeeze  of  his  hand  and  a  whisper 
which  did  not  sound  in  the  least  disrespectful,  only 
frank  and  natural.  Harmony's  italics  might  have  been 
considered  unfortunate,  if  not  understood. 


The   Golden   Answer  135 

"What  is  the  matter  with  her  ?"  she  asked. 

"She's  only  tired  out,"  Amos  answered  in  a  low 
voice.  "Aunt  Bells  has  been  weeping  on  her  shoulder. 
Say  good-night  to  her  quietly,  like  a  good  baby." 

"Good-night,  Christina,"  said  Harmony  sedately  as 
she  walked  by. 

"Good-night,  Harmony." 

Harmony  put  her  head  back  through  the  door  and 
added,  "Dearie!" 

After  a  time  Christina  rose,  wiping  her  eyes.  She 
went  over  and  stood  beside  Amos,  peering  out  of  the 
window  too. 

"YouM  better  shovel  the  walk  before  dinner,"  she 
said. 

"I  suppose  so,"  he  replied. 


CHAPTER  XV 

HE  did  go  out  and  shovel  the  walk,  hurriedly,  and 
was  glad  of  the  necessity.  He  would  have  liked  to 
loiter  over  the  task,  the  air  was  so  cool  and  clear,  the 
snow  so  beautifully  light  and  sparkling  as  he  threw  it  to 
one  side.  It  was  dry  enough  to  be  almost  like  crystal 
dust.  He  felt  the  need  of  things.  But  there  was  no 
time  for  such  a  remedy  now.  He  was  obliged  to 
plunge  from  a  scene  that  had  left  him  quivering,  to  the 
perfunctory  entertainment  of  guests. 

He  shook  the  snow  from  his  clothes  and  shoes  and 
went  quickly  up  through  the  neat,  pretty  little  house — 
only  one  of  millions  of  neat,  pretty  little  houses,  it  all 
at  once  occurred  to  him — to  the  room  across  from 
Harmony's,  which  he  had  taken  for  his  dressing  room. 
As  he  hurried  into  his  dinner  clothes  he  wondered 
whom  Christina  had  invited.  She  usually  at  least 
mentioned  the  names  of  the  guests  who  made  such  a 
difference  in  the  grocery  bill,  but  this  time  she  had 
failed  to  inform  him. 

It  was  only  when  he  stood  in  the  library — which 
also  was  the  drawing  room  of  the  small  house — talking 
with  Charles  Brent,  whom  he  liked  increasingly,  and 
with  Nora  Willard,  persistently  a  "flapper,"  whose 
name  he  thought  should  be  "Modestine,"  that  he  dis- 
covered who  were  his  two  chief  dinner  guests.  A 
slender,  bony  woman  with  sandy  hair,  disfiguringly 
prominent  teeth,  and  very  beautiful  hazel  eyes,  came 
forward  to  greet  Christina.  She  was  followed  by  a 
stony-faced,  tall,  dark  man  with  a  restless  manner  and 

136 


The   Golden  Answer 

handsome  features,  no  other  than  "the  daring  man," 
who  had  refused  the  part  of  the  Fool — Philip  Dana. 

Edith's  "energy"  had  been  rewarded.  She  had  mar- 
ried him  after  all. 

Christina  had  chosen  to  wear  that  evening  a  gown  in 
which  she  looked  her  best.  It  was  of  golden  chiffon 
over  brown  satin.  Above  it  rose  her  smoothly  rippling 
brown-gold  head  with  its  white  forehead  and  delicate 
dark  brows.  She  carried  a  black  fan.  In  certain  cos- 
tumes Christina,  whose  health  was  perfect,  seemed  at- 
tractively fragile.  This  aspect  gave  her  an  exquisite 
distinction.  Beside  her,  now,  the  sandy  woman  in  her 
smart  black  gown  looked  utterly  undistinguished, 
though  of  a  forceful  presence. 

"Dear  Edith,"  said  Christina,  kissing  the  ugly  mouth 
beneath  the  lovely  eyes,  "it  is  so  nice  to  have  you  here. 
This  is  Mrs.  Dana,  Amos.  You  and  Mr.  Dana  have 
met  before." 

"Hello,  Fortune,"  said  Philip  Dana,  shaking  hands 
with  his  silent  host.  "Met  some  friends  of  yours  the 
other  day,  at  a  club  in  Chicago.  They  sent  a  message 
to  you,  but,  by  George,  I've  forgotten  it.  Ha !  ha !  Not 
surprising,  eh  ?  Ha !  ha !" 

His  laugh  infuriated  Amos.  What  was  he  doing 
back  in  town?  When  he  left,  that,  supposedly,  was  the 
end  of  him.  Certainly  Amos  had  never  reckoned  on  a 
recrudescence.  What  possessed  Christina  to  ask  him 
to  their  house?  A  feeling  of  depression  settled  around 
his  heart,  heavily. 

They  went  out  to  dinner  before  Amos  inquired  the 
names  of  his  friends  who  remembered  him.  At  the 
table  Dana  inquired  unexpectedly : 

"How's  the  little  brown-haired,  brown-eyed  girl?" 
One  knew  that  he  was  not  fond  of  children.  "I  re- 
member her  very  well,  and  I'm  reminded  of  her  now — • 


138  The   Golden  Answer 

perhaps  by  the  sight  of  Mrs.  Fortune's  becoming 
domesticity.  Do  you  make  a  cruel  stepmother,  Chris- 
tina?" 

He  looked  with  a  sparkle  of  laughter  from  Amos  to 
Christina. 

"Harmony's  growing  tall,  thanks,"  said  Amos. 

"I  even  remember  her  name  for  you,"  rattled  on 
Dana.  "She  called  you,  am  I  right?  the  Discreet  Prin- 
cess." 

No  one  answered  until  Charles  Brent  said,  "That's 
a  fact.  I  heard  her  call  Christina  that  at  the  play.  Say, 
you  missed  a  lot,  Dana,  by  hoofing  it  off  when  you  did. 
It  was  a  darned  good  play,  and  we  made  quite  a  bunch 
of  money." 

"Who  took  my  part?"  asked  Dana. 

"Mr.  Fortune  did,"  said  Nora  Willard,  "and  he 
made  a  perfectly  lovely  Fool." 

"He  did  it  better  than  you  could  have  done  it, 
Philip,"  smiled  Christina. 

Mrs.  Dana  turned  to  Amos. 

"How  clever  of  you !  And  did  you  have  to  learn  all 
those  words,  and  I  suppose  to  dance  a  clog  or  some- 
thing, right  at  the  last  minute?" 

Ajmos  came  back  from  preoccupation  with  an  effort. 

"Why,  yes,  but,  you  know 

'He  that  has  a  little,  tiny  wit, 
With  heigh-ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 
Must  make  content  with  his  fortunes  fit, 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day.'  " 

Mrs.  Dana  put  up  a  lorgnette  and  looked  at  him. 
Her  lovely  eyes  were  magnified  by  it. 
"Good  gracious !"  was  all  she  said. 
Amos,  repenting,  privately  justified  himself  by  the 


The   Golden  Answer  139 

recollection  that  prominent  teeth  always  made  him 
nervous. 

"I  don't  go  in  for  that  sort  of  thing,"  remarked 
Dana,  with  smooth  politeness.  "By  the  way,  Fortune, 
don't  ask  me  who  your  old  pals  were  because  I  remem- 
ber only  one  name — that's  Harry  Boyce.  He  had  a 
lot  to  say  about  the  good  old  times.  Very  entertaining. 
Knew  your  brother,  too." 

"I  dare  say,"  replied  Amos. 

He  met  Philip  Dana's  eyes  squarely,  and  read  in 
them  the  fact  that  Boyce  had  spoken  with  a  loosened 
tongue. 

Later  in  the  evening  Amos  went  upstairs  and  into 
Harmony's  room  to  make  sure  that  she  had  not  thrown 
the  bedclothes  off.  As  he  came  out  of  her  door  he  met 
Charles  Brent,  who  had  come  up  after  cigarettes  left  in 
his  overcoat  pocket. 

"Oh,  say,  Fortune,"  said  C.  M.  "Take  me  in  to  see 
the  little  tyke." 

The  two  men  stepped  back  into  Harmony's  room  and 
Amos  turned  up  the  light.  Harmony  lay  with  her 
brown  curls  tossed  around  her  face  and  one  hand 
tucked  under  her  cheek.  C.  M.  stood  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed  looking  at  her. 

"Great  little  institutions,  aren't  they  ?"  he  said.  "I'd 
like  one  of  ray  own." 

Amos  said  nothing. 

While  Charles  Brent  was  looking  at  Harmony,  with 
a  thoughtful  smile,  he  went  over  to  the  window  to 
throw  it  open  wider.  Johanna  could  not  be  converted 
to  a  wide-open  window  at  night.  As  he  stood  a 
moment  looking  down  into  the  snowy  garden,  which 
sparkled  frostily,  he  saw  two  figures  on  the  small  un- 
covered side  porch,  one  a  woman's  with  a  cloak  thrown 
around  her.  And  a  familiar  man's  voice  rose,  saying: 


140  The   Golden  Answer 

"You  didn't  expect  me  back." 

"No,"  came  Christina's  reply. 

"I  was  astounded — when  I  heard  of  this  marriage. 
Do  you  expect  to  be  happy?" 

"Don't  you  wish  me  happiness?" 

"I  came  to  do  that !" 

Then  Christina's  laugh  rippled  up  and  they  stepped 
back  into  the  house. 

Amos  slowly  raised  the  window  ten  inches  more 
and  turned  around  to  Charles  Brent.  He  was  care- 
fully pushing  a  curl  out  of  Harmony's  eyes. 

"It  would  be  great  to  have  one  that  belonged  to 
you,"  C.  M.  repeated. 

Amos  snapped  off  the  light. 

"Come  on  downstairs,"  he  said,  harshly,  "we'll 
waken  her." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  WEEK  later,  at  about  four  o'clock  on  Saturday 
afternoon,  Amos  met  Charles  Mowatt  Brent  on  the 
street  as  he  was  returning  from  a  quick  walk  out  to  the 
frozen  marsh  and  back  and  Brent  was  coming  up  the 
street  on  his  way,  somewhat  laggingly,  homeward. 

"Hello,  there,"  called  out  C.  M.  "Where  you 
steamin'  to  so  fast?  That's  no  way  to  walk,  man. 
Head  up,  chin  in,  then  you'll  recognize  your  friends." 

"Hello,"  laughed  Amos.    "  I  was  thinking." 

"Guilty  of  it  myself  sometimes.  Nice  afternoon. 
Where's  Christina?" 

"In  town  at  a  matinee." 

"I  never  could  go  to  a  theater  when  it's  daylight 
outdoors,  but  women  seem  to  lap  it  up,"  observed  Mr. 
Brent.  "I'll  turn  around  and  walk  back  with  you." 

They  fell  into  step  together  at  a  more  leisurely  pace. 
The  winter  dusk  was  just  closing  in.  The  wide  lawns 
and  fields  of  the  old  town  that  had  awakened  one 
morning,  ten  years  ago,  to  find  itself  a  suburb,  lay 
under  a  pale  lavender  covering  of  snow.  The  sky  was 
deepest  turquoise.  In  some  of  the  houses  lights  were 
beginning  to  shine  as  the  two  men  crunched  along  the 
frozen  paths. 

Amos  at  once  had  the  feeling  that  Charles  Brent 
wanted  to  say  something  to  him,  and  did  not  know 
how  to  begin.  He  rambled  off  at  first  into  a  descrip- 
tion of  Hilda  Martin's  birthday  party,  which  Amos 
had  heard  all  about  from  Harmony. 

141 


142  The   Golden   Answer 

"Nice  little  girl,  Harmony,"  he  said  absently.  "Miss 
Martin  is  very  fond  of  her." 

"So  is  Christina,"  answered  Amos. 

.When  they  reached  the  Hoyle  house  C.  M.  seemed  to 
see  his  opportunity.  There  was  only  one  light — in  the 
front  hall — in  the  large  brick  pile,  the  windows  of 
which  reflected  the  somewhat  sickly  color  of  the  snow. 
At  least,  seen  on  these  lawns  and  in  this  garden,  which 
had  been  only  last  summer  gay,  the  pallid  sheet  of 
snow,  before  so  beautiful,  seemed  sickly.  In  the  midst 
of  the  garden,  almost  hiding  the  pergola  from  view — 
the  pergola  of  many  memories — stood  an  enormous 
new  sign,  yellow,  with  large  black  letters,  that  read : 

FOR  SALE 

"That's  a  shame,"  said  Charles  Brent,  jerking  his 
head  toward  the  big  house.  "Can't  understand  how  it 
happened  to  Benton  Hoyle.  Just  a  run  of  bad  luck — 
one  damn  thing  after  another,  you  know.  I  under- 
stand they're  going  to  move  away." 

"Yes,"  said  Amos  gravely.  "They  own  a  smaller 
house  in  Boston  and  they're  going  to  live  in  it  and 
economize  until  the  period  of  depression  is  over." 

"That  so?  Well,  it's  a  wise  plan,  I  guess,  Chris- 
tina'll  miss  them." 

"Yes." 

Brent  cleared  his  throat,  hesitated,  and  turned  down 
the  lane  with  Amos.  At  the  gate  Amos  asked  him  in. 

"No;  thanks:  can't  to-day.  Say — see  here,  Fortune, 
— do  you  like  your  new  job,  with  the  A.  S.  Realty?" 

"I  like  it  well  enough;  why?"  Amos  answered, 
.stiffening  a  little  in  spite  of  himself. 

"Well,  it  might  not  be  a  bad  plan  to  go  back  to  the 


The   Golden   Answer  143 

company  you  were  with  before,  while  the  going's 
good,  so  to  speak." 

"I  think  you  had  better  tell  me  why  you  advise  that," 
said  Amos  quietly,  after  a  pause. 

"Can't  go  into  detail  because  I've  given  my  word. 
But,  by  George !  I  can't  stand  by  and  keep  my  mouth 
shut  altogether,  either.  You  and — and  Christina  are 
friends  of  mine.  ...  I  have  reason  to  know  that  the 
A.  S.  Realty  is — is  pretty  damned  shaky.  Hope  for 
the  best  and  all  that,  but  if  I  were  you  I'd  get  out 
now." 

There  was  another  pause.  The  light  had  faded 
again.  The  snow  was  no  longer  lavender,  but  ashen 
gray ;  the  sky  a  midnight  blue  with  frosty,  glittering 
stars.  Amos  spoke  quietly  this  time,  too. 

"But  the  difficulty  is  that  I — have  put  all  the  money 
I  have  in  the  world  in  the  A.  S.  Realty  Company.  I 
can't  desert  my  post  at  this  time.  And  I  can't  honor- 
ably sell  my  shares,  even  if  anyone  would  buy  them. 
Though  that  doesn't  mean  we're  actually  insolvent 
now.  We  may  pull  through." 

C.  M.  gave  a  long,  low  whistle. 

"I  hope  so,"  he  said.  There  was  another  silence. 
Then  he  added,  "I  didn't  know  about  your  stock.  No, 
you  can't  sell  now ;  but  look  here,  there  are  others  who 
aren't  so  scrupulous." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  know  that  some  of  the  men  are  unloading  right 
and  left  this  minute,  selling  to  small  Western  and 
Southern  buyers.  Nothing  seems  so  solid  and  glitter- 
ing as  an  investment  in  a  distant  utility  or  realty.  To 
a  school  teacher  in  a  midland  state  or  a  minister  in 
Mississippi  the  ringing  sound  of  the  words  Atlantic 
Seaboard  Realty  you  can  get,  can't  you?" 

"But  that's  against  the  law !" 


144  The    Golden   Answer 

"Only  if  it  can  be  proved  that  the  seller  is  a  director 
of  the  company  and  knows  the  company  is  actually 
insolvent  at  the  time !" 

"I  don't  believe  we  are  going  to  fail,"  repeated  Amos 
slowly,  swinging  the  green  gate  back  and  forth  so  that 
it  creaked  with  a  dismal  sound.  "But  the  chances  are 
all  for  it;  and  if  we  should  fail,  and  these  men  have 
done  as  you  say,  by  God,  jail  is  too  good  for  them, 
whoever  they  are." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  said  Charles  Brent 

"And,"  went  on  Amos,  "lacking  a  more  suitable 
place  and  a  better  advocate  I  should  do  my  best  to  put 
them  there." 

"Better  go  slow,"  advised  C.  M.  "And  say,  look 
here.  I'm  sorry  I  spoke.  I  thought  it  was  just  a 
matter  of  changing  berths.  Didn't  know  you  were  in 
so  deep.  Moral,  don't  butt  in — I  never  know  enough 
not  to." 

"Nonsense!    Of  course  I'm  grateful." 

Charles  Brent  snorted  and  dug  his  stick  into  the 
snow.  He  seemed  to  want  to  say  something  else  and 
not  to  know  how.  Finally  he  merely  added  to  the 
snort,  "Well,  good-night." 

"Come  on  in  and  see  Harmony,"  said  Amos. 

"Sorry,  not  this  time."  The  big  man  looked  at  his 
watch.  "My  sisters  expect  me  home  early." 

Without  another  word  he  was  off  up  the  lane,  his 
footsteps  creaking  in  the  snow  and  his  stick  occasion- 
ally striking  out  from  right  to  left.  Amos  stood 
watching  him  out  of  sight. 

He  went  into  the  house  slowly.  First  he  looked  into 
the  living  room  and  saw  Harmony  playing  paper  dolls 
with  another  little  girl,  whose  yellow  curls  in  the  fire- 
light were  a  pretty  foil  for  her  brown  ones.  This  little 
girl,  whose  name  was,  to  Amos's  delight,  Bennie,  wore 


The   Golden   Answer  145 

a  short  blue  smock  that  reached  to  her  knees.  Har- 
mony wore  a  short  yellow  smock.  They  looked  up  at 
him  with  their  absorbed  eyes  and  did  not  come  out  of 
their  parts. 

"Our  ladies  are  at  the  theater,"  half  chanted  Har- 
mony, in  an  aside  to  Amos.  "You  are  the  hero  of  the 
play  coming  out  to  bow  before  the  curtain." 

Amos  bowed. 

"They  are  clapping  you.  Oh,  Mrs.  Smith,  don't  you 
think  the  play  is  nice  ?  Such  an  interesting  actor." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Brown,  isn't  he  handsome  ?"  contributed 
Bennie. 

Amos  threw  kisses  to  them  and  backed  into  the 
hall  again,  still  bowing.  As  he  went  upstairs  he  heard 
their  bubbling  laughter. 

"I  just  love  him,  don't  you?"  inquired  Bennie. 

He  went  into  his  room  and  shut  the  door.  Sitting 
down  by  the  window  he  tried  to  think,  but  he  had  gone 
over  everything  so  many  times  lately  that  he  knew 
there  was  no  use  starting  again.  Charles  Brent's 
advice  was  good  but  he  could  not  take  it.  Everything 
would  have  gone  all  right  if  the  abnormal  financial 
depression  had  not  swooped  down  and  caught  him  in 
its  talons.  No!  It  had  not  quite  caught  him.  There 
was  a  chance  of  saving  the  company  vet.  If  he  only 
had  more  in  the  bank  instead  of  so  many  shares  in 
Atlantic  Seaboard  Realty !  He  must  manage  to  save  a 
little  more  each  week.  Even  a  few  dollars  weekly 
counted.  He  took  out  a  notebook  and  began  to  figure. 
If  he  could  save  so  much  more,  beginning  to-morrow, 
there  would  be  less  danger,  if  the  crash  should  come. 
And  please  heaven  it  would  not  come. 

As  he  sat  figuring,  through  the  methodical  symbols 
something  seemed  to  start  and  glow.  A  psychologist 
might  have  said,  prosaically,  that  this  phenomenon  was 


146  The   Golden  Answer 

induced  by  the  action  of  holding  the  pencil  in  the 
fingers  and  making  marks  with  it.  But  all  the  after- 
noon he  had  been  rilled  with  a  pleasurable  excitement, 
a  low  emotional  chant  of  the  spirit  going  on  as  a  thrill- 
ing undertone  to  trivial  acts.  He  knew  the  explanation 
of  it,  or  rather  he  recognized  this  as  a  moment  to  be 
captured.  It  was  what  had  made  him  turn  back  early 
from  the  frozen  marsh.  It  was  what  is  tritely  known 
as  "inspiration,"  a  word  he  detested. 

It  was  quite  possible  to  create  artistically  in  other 
moods,  of  course.  In  fact  it  was  well  to  do  so.  Hours 
of  sweating  labor  were  indispensable  in  their  turn, 
days  when  the  reluctant  author  must  flog  himself  to 
his  desk  and  chain  his  leg  to  it.  But  this  was  different. 
This  was  sent  out  of  the  blue.  And  it  was  the  best  of 
all  healing. 

He  went  to  the  little  table  and  snapped  on  the  light, 
smiling.  For  months  he  had  not  done  a  line  of 
"Avalon."  And  now  he  had  a  new  idea  for  it.  It  had 
risen  like  a  pure,  frosty  breath  from  the  desolate 
marsh,  almost  as  intangible  as  a  breath.  Heaven  knew 
where  it  had  come  from!  But  it  was  there.  It  had 
floated  over  the  violet  reaches  of  snow.  It  had  gone 
before  him  and  made  the  whole  world  beautiful.  It 
had  all  but  vanished  during  the  walk  with  Charles 
Brent  and  the  worrisome  talk.  But  as  soon  as  he  was 
alone  again,  pencil  in  hand,  it  had  come  stealing  shyly 
back  and  would  not  be  banished.  It  was  about  "Har- 
mony"— not  the  child  but  the  idea.  Just  how  to  put  it 
together  and  make  it  tangible  and  likable — for  there 
is  no  use  in  any  idea  under  heaven  unless  somebody 
likes  to  read  it — he  did  not  yet  know.  He  leaned  his 
head  on  his  hand  to  think  it  out. 

And  the  telephone  bell  rang  at  his  elbow.  He 
jumped,  and  took  down  the  receiver. 


The   Golden  Answer  147 

Christina's  voice  came  to  him  rather  faintly,  and 
then  very  near. 

"Is  that  you,  Amos?  I'm  telephoning  from  the 
Waldorf.  We've  just  had  tea." 

"Oh,  Christina, — was  the  play  good?" 

"Perfectly  charming.  .  ,  .  You  know  I  came  in 
with  Edith  Dana." 

"No,  I  didn't  know." 

"I  thought  I  told  you  that  was  the  plan.  She  has 
just  telephoned  to  Philip.  He's  coming  in,  and  we're 
going  to  have  dinner,  and  then  do  something  else,  per- 
haps dance.  We  want  you  to  come.  You  can  just 
make  the  6.30  and  have  time  to  dress." 

There  was  a  long  pause. 

"Are  you  there?"  came  Christina's  voice  somewhat 
sharply. 

"Yes,  I'm  here." 

"I  said  you  can  catch  the  6.30  nicely.  Johanna  will 
stay  in  with  Harmony.  She  told  me  she  would — if — 
if  you  decided  to  come  in  and  join  me." 

He  remembered  the  figures  in  his  notebook  and 
grasped  firmly  his  resolution. 

"Christina,  I  don't  know  what  to  say.  I  ought  not 
to  come,  dear." 

"You  ought  not  to?" 

"There  are  reasons,  Christina,  you  know." 

"Reasons  why  you  shouldn't  please  me?" 

"Yes,  in  just  that  way." 

There  was  another  pause. 

"Are  you  coming?" 

"I'm  horribly  sorry.  But  I  can't.  Wouldn't  you  be 
willing  to  take  the  6. 10  home  ?  Dinner  will  be  ready — 
and  then  I  can  explain." 

"No."  Pause  again.  "I  want  to  stay,  so — I  think 
I'll  just— stay." 


148  The   Golden   Answer 

Amos  waited.  But  without  good-by  the  connection 
was  severed. 

More  than  a  mere  electrical  connection  was  severed. 
The  gorgeous  idea  floated  away,  leaving  a  trace,  of 
course,  but  a  mere  bald  fact  that  seemed  stale  and  un- 
attractive, the  glamour  all  gone. 

Amos  suddenly  discovered  that  he  was  very  tired. 
He  turned  out  the  light  and  lay  down  on  the  cot  bed  in 
the  corner.  Christina's  face  smiled  at  him  from  the 
blackness,  lovely  and  perverse.  He  lay  there  in  the 
dark  a  long  time. 

He  was  startled  out  of  a  troubled  doze  by  Harmony 
standing  beside  him.  She  had  turned  on  the  light  and 
was  laughing  down  at  him. 

"Dinner's  ready,"  said  she,  "and  Christina  won't  be 
here.  Mayn't  I  ask  Bennie  to  stay?  We'll  telephone 
her  mother." 

"How  do  you  know  that  Christina  won't  be  here, 
Harmony?"  he  asked. 

"Because  she  said  so.  She  told  Johanna  before  she 
went.  May  I  call  up  Bennie's  mother  now  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Amos  absently. 

The  two  little  girls  giggled  a  good  deal  during  the 
dinner.  Harmony  sat  in  Christina's  chair,  and  Bennie 
in  Harmony's  old  place.  Amos  thought  how  much  like 
spring  flowers  they  were  in  their  pale  blue  and  pale 
yellow  dresses.  He  said  very  little  himself,  to  Bennie's 
obvious  disappointment. 

"You  aren't  always  funny,  are  you  ?"  she  remarked, 
looking  at  him  critically  across  her  plate. 

After  dinner,  according  to  her  mother's  instructions, 
he  bundled  the  plump  Bennie  into  her  coat  and  hat  and 
leggings  and  took  her  home.  Harmony  went  along, 
too,  and  they  left  Bennie  at  her  door,  receiving  enthu- 
siastic good-night  kisses  from  her. 


The   Golden  Answer  149 

"But  I  like  you,"  said  Bennie  at  his  ear,  "when  you 
aren't  funny." 

Children  are  angelically  comforting. 

Harmony,  according  to  her  custom,  went  to  bed 
early.  And  then  Amos  sat  down  before  the  old 
secretary  in  his  library,  determined  to  recapture  the 
idea  that  the  telephone  bell  had  jangled  away.  It  did 
not  come  easily ;  the  elation  was  all  gone ;  but  he  was 
determined  to  work  it  out,  if  not  one  way,  in  another. 
This  was  about  the  difference,  he  thought,  between 
Pegasus  and  a  canal  horse,  but  he  went  stubbornly  at 
the  work. 

In  the  full  swing  of  his  toil  the  whistle  of  the 
11.35  train  contracted  his  heart.  Fifteen  minutes 
later  there  were  voices  outside  and  Christina  came  in 
alone  and  went  straight  upstairs.  Still  he  continued  to 
write.  If  the  "inspiration"  had  been  shattered  like  a 
glass  dome,  the  slow  and  laborious  working  out  of  the 
idea  should  not  also  be  sacrificed  unnecessarily. 

The  house  was  still,  only  an  occasional  creaking  of  a 
board  upstairs.  Amos  sat  and  smoked,  put  down  a 
careful  sentence,  rubbed  his  forehead,  put  down 
another,  puffed  at  his  pipe,  read  over  a  paragraph,  be- 
came more  interested,  was,  indeed,  for  the  hour,  calmly 
and  solidly  happy.  He  had  not  forgotten  Christina — 
he  merely  put  aside  the  problem  she  had  presented  until 
his  work  was  done. 

But  at  last  he  rose,  put  out  the  lights  and  walked 
slowly  upstairs.  He  saw  her  then  in  her  doorway. 
She  wore  a  green  kimono  that  folded  about  her  like  the 
sheath  of  a  flower.  From  it  her  white  neck  rose,  and 
her  slim  hands  held  the  green  silk  about  her.  She  was 
smiling.  He  suddenly  felt  tired  and  dim  beside  her 
brightness.  The  pages  of  "Avalon"  were  dusty  un- 
reality, unworthy  of  effort. 


150  The   Golden   Answer 

"Haven't  you  done  about  enough?"  said  Christina. 
"You  spoiled  our  party.  Three  is  an  awkward  number 
—Edith  thought." 

But  the  harshness  of  her  words  was  softened  because 
she  smiled,  He  went  into  her  room  with  her. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

CHRISTINA  curled  up  in  the  big  chair  she  had  had 
covered  with  chintz  of  a  jonquil  pattern. 

"Now,"  said  she,  "I  didn't  take  the  6.10  home,  but 
perhaps  we  can  have  the  explanation  just  the  same." 

Amos  stopped,  necktie  in  hand. 

"I  didn't  come  in  to  have  dinner  with  you  and  the 
Danas  because  I  couldn't  afford  it.  Oh,  I  wanted  to—- 
to work,  too;  but  I  would  have  left  that,  to-night,  to 
please  you.  The  plain  fact  is  money  is  tight  this 
winter,  especially  with  me." 

"I  thought,"  remarked  Christina  slowly,  "that  you 
made  arrangements  before  you  asked  me  to  marry  you, 
so  that  you  would  not  be  so — poor — as  you  were,  when 
I  met  you." 

"Why  do  you  add  'when  I  met  you*  in  just  that 
tone?"  demanded  Amos  instead  of  answering. 

"I  have  been  hearing,"  said  Christina,  jabbing  at  a 
chintz  jonquil  with  her  finger,  "that  you  used  to  have — 
money.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  that,  when  you  told 
me  the  other  things  that  I — when  you  told  me  the  other 
things?" 

He  knew  in  a  flash  of  insight  that  she  was  going  to 
say  "When  you  told  me  the  things  that  I  don't  care  so 
much  about." 

"Christina,  on  my  honor,  I  forgot  it.  We  never  had 
a  great  deal,  and  my  brother  and  I  did  foolish  things 
with  it,  until  it  was  gone." 

"It  would  have  come  in  handy  now." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Amos  gravely. 


152  The   Golden   Answer 

He  lighted  a  cigarette  and  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  the  room. 

"Now  about  those  'arrangements'  I  made  before  I 
asked  you  to  marry  me.  I  want  you  to  understand  the 
situation  clearly,  because,  the  fact  is,  luck  has  turned 
against  me — I  suppose  it's  bitter  to  say  again — and  we 
must  be  careful  for  a  while.  I've  got  to  ask  you, 
Christina,  to  cooperate." 

She  raised  her  eyes  and  asked,  "How?" 

"I  don't  mean  I  want  any  money  of  yours,"  he  said 
with  haste,  averting  his  own  eyes  nervously.  "Of 
course. 

"To  tell  you  briefly  and  definitely,"  he  went  on  after 
a  moment,  "the  company  in  which  you  know  I  am 
heavily  invested — heavily  for  me — is  toppling.  We 
may  save  it  or  it  may  go  over.  Probably  it  will  go. 
If  it  goes — there  go  not  only  my  job  but  my  savings. 
I  believe  that  poor  men  speak  of  their  capital  as  their 
'savings.'  You  can,  without  much  mental  strain,  see 
the  advisability  of  my  saving  a  little  something  out  of 
my  salary  this  winter,  to  tide  us  over  if  the  worst 
happens.  The  truth  of  the  matter  is — I  have  only  a 
few  hundreds  to  my  name." 

"Well,"  said  Christina,  ignoring  his  plea  for  co- 
operation, and  jabbing  another  jonquil  with  another 
ringer,  "why  don't  you  sell  your  stock,  and  start  fresh? 
It's  low,  but  people  will  buy  it  for  that  very  reason. 
You  would  lose  something,  but  not  the  full  amount." 

He  sat  down  suddenly. 

She  looked  very  sweet  and  gentle  in  her  jonquil 
chair.  A  man  might  have  staked  his  honor  upon  her 
unwillingness  to  hurt  a  living  thing,  or  upon  her  lack 
of  any  wrong  intention  whatsoever.  And  he  would 
not  have  been  far  from  right. 

"And  what,"  inquired  Amos,  "would  become  of  the 


The   Golden   Answer  153 

persons  who,  having  bought  my  stock,  found  it  worth- 
less?" 

"I'm  sure  we  can't  be  expected  to  keep  track  of 
everybody,"  she  replied,  yawning. 

After  a  silence  she  said,  "I  was  unjust  to  poor  Uncle 
Benton.  He  looked  after  me  very  well.  Aunt  Bertha 
told  me  yesterday  that  he  saved  almost  all  of  my  little 
bit  of  money  for  me  by  selling  my  stock  before  one  of 
those  precious  companies  of  his  went  to  the  wall.  So 
you  see  it  can't  be  very  bad  to  do  it." 

"What  company  was  it?"  asked  Amos  in  a  strained 
voice. 

She  looked  up,  her  eyes  opening  with  surprised 
recollection. 

"Why  it  was  the  Atlantic  Seaboard  Realty." 

Amos  carefully  put  out  his  cigarette. 

"Uncle  Benton  is  a  better  manager  than  I,"  he  said 
dryly. 

"But,"  she  comforted  with  a  sweet,  excusing  voice, 
"he  is  a  much  older  man." 

Amos  laughed.  Then  he  leaned  toward  her,  his 
hands  clasped  between  his  knees. 

"You  don't  care — let's  be  perfectly  clear  about  all 
this,  my  dear, — you  don't  care  any  more  than  that 
pretty  yawn  of  yours  if  small  people  in  Tennessee  and 
Iowa  and  Montana  lose  this  money  instead  of  you  and 
me — are  virtually  tricked  into  losing  it?" 

"Oh,  of  course  it  isn't  pleasant.  ..." 

"No,  not  very  pleasant.  .  .  .  Do  you  know  Miss 
Mary  Louise  Burchard,  of  Bay  St.  Louis?"  he  asked 
suddenly,  to  Christina's  astonishment.  "She  gives 
music  lessons  and  is  forty-six  years  old.  She  has 
saved  $500 ;  no  more,  because  her  mother  was  sick  and 
died,  and  her  father  was  sick  and  died,  and  she  had 
to  buy  a  new  piano  for  her  business  and — she's  alone 


154  The   Golden   Answer 

and  not  very  well  and — lots  of  other  reasons.  She 
has  bought  $500  worth  of  your  stock  because  it  was 
low  and  the  interest  was  high.  What  if  she  loses  it?" 

"How  in  the  world  do  you  know  her?"  She  gave 
him  an  uneasy  glance.  Then  she  rose  and  gathered 
her  green  silk  kimono  around  her.  She  seemed  to  wish 
to  shake  off  something;  her  beautiful  eyes  had  the 
strangest  look  in  their  depths  of  all  the  strange  looks 
Amos  had  seen  there. 

"You're  making  it  up!  This  is  what  it  means  to 
marry  a  writer,"  she  joked  airily.  "Your  imagination 
is  working  overtime,  my  dear.  Let's  go  to  bed !" 

Later,  Amos  remembered  that  she  had  not  said  she 
would  "cooperate,"  or  make  any  agreement  about  try- 
ing to  save  money.  In  fact,  just  before  he  turned  out 
the  light  and  opened  the  windows  she  changed  the  sub- 
ject. 

"The  Danas  are  going  back  to  Boston  to  stay,"  she 
said,  twisting  her  braid  around  her  finger.  "Philip's 
work  will  keep  him  there  at  least  a  year.'* 

"Is  that  so?" 

"It  will  be  nice  for  Aunt  Bertha  and  Uncle  Benton." 

"I  dare  say," 

"It  will  make  it  pleasant  for  me  when  I  visit  there 
in  the  spring." 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  going." 

"I  always  visit  Aunt  Bertha  in  the  spring!  Why 
should  her  living  in  Boston  and  my  living  here  make 
any  difference?" 

"I  don't  know  that  it  need  to.  Now  I  think  of  it.  you 
always  have  come  in  the  spring." 

"Then  that's  settled,"  said  Christina,  practically. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

REMEMBERING  the  winter  afterward,  each  could  say 
that,  in  spite  of  readjustments  and  some  disagree- 
ments, they  were  happy  then.  The  Hoyles,  after  the 
original  shock  of  their  first  disaster,  moved  away  from 
Bramford,  sufficiently  recovered  to  salvage  enough  of 
their  fortune  so  that  Mr.  Hoyle,  though  in  truth  ex- 
tremely short  of  cash,  did  not  need  to  contemplate 
working  for  his  bread  or  even  his  butter.  The  Danas 
also,  after  a  few  months,  went  back  to  Boston,  but  not 
before  Christina  had  spent  a  great  deal  more  time  and 
money  in  their  company. 

Amos  and  she  never  discussed  her  friendship  with 
the  Danas,  nor  the  subject  of  Christina's  investments, 
again.  But  both  topics  lay  between  them,  like  a  nar- 
row strip  of  forbidden  territory  across  which  their 
hands  could  not  quite  meet. 

During  the  winter,  too, — a  cause  for  happiness — he 
had  begun  to  write  on  his  book  again,  but  had  been 
obliged  to  put  it  away  indefinitely,  until,  at  least,  the 
tangled  affairs  of  the  Atlantic  Seaboard  Realty  Com- 
pany were  unwound.  In  the  month  when  he  was 
writing  Christina  seemed  to  grow  in  sympathy  for  the 
work  that  at  first  she  only  humorously  tolerated. 

One  holiday  morning,  in  February,  she  came  into  his 
small  upstairs  study  at  the  beginning  of  a  glorious  free 
morning,  glorious  because  free  for  his  own  work.  She 
was  affectionately  amused  that  he  should  sit  up  here 
covering  sheets  of  white  paper  with  small  writing  and 
rubbing  the  back  of  his  head,  when  he  might  be  walk- 

155 


156  The    Golden   Answer 

ing  in  the  country  with  her  or  talking  with  other  men 
at  his  club. 

"If  you  expect  your  hair  ever  to  lie  flat  in  the  back 
again  you'll  have  to  stop  writing,"  she  told  him,  "or 
shave  it.  It's  only  half  an  inch  long  now.  I  shouldn't 
like  it  any  shorter." 

He  grinned.  "Run  along  and  play  with  Harmony. 
Some  day,  when  this  is  finished,  you'll  be  glad  you 
did." 

"Why?    Do  you  think  it  might  be  a  best  seller?" 

"Heaven  forbid!  No — that's  literary  snobbishness. 
Lots  of  them  are  darned  good.  Bless  the  gentle 
readers'  hearts,  they  usually  spot  a  good  thing  when  it 
comes  out.  The  only  trouble  is,  they  spot  the  other 
kind,  too  often!  .  .  .  No,  Christina,  this  humble 
effort  will  fall  between  those  poles,  I  fancy.  But  I  can 
tell  you  it's  gods'  play  to  write  it.  If  it  were  only  as 
good  as  it  feels!" 

She  looked  down  at  the  paper  a  little  wistfully,  but 
with  a  touch  of  wonder. 

"Are  you  really  going  on  and — and  write  a  book?" 

She  said  "write-a-book"  as  if  it  were  a  verb  that 
could  be  conjugated,  from  "I  write-a-book,  you  write- 
a-book,  he  writes-a-book"  to  a  blithe  "I  have-written-a- 
book"  and  a  criminally  hasty  "I  shall-write-a-book." 

He  put  his  arm  around  her  slim  waist  as  she  stood 
beside  him. 

"Christina,  dear,  there's  one  dark  mystery  about 
your  husband  that  you  don't  yet  know." 

"Heavens!  What?"  she  laughed,  but  half  in 
earnest. 

It  was  true  that  Amos  never  had  told  her  about  his 
whimsical  essays  in  The  Atlantic  Monthly,  though 
something  had  recently  happened  to  make  him  long  yet 


The   Golden   Answer  157 

hesitate  anew  to  tell  her.  The  strange  fact  was  that  he 
could  love  her  as  he  had  never  expected  to  love  any 
living  thing,  and  yet  recognize  that  there  was  ground 
on  which  they  would  never  meet — witness  the  territory 
across  which  hands  would  not  stretch.  Knowing  this, 
nevertheless  he  dreaded  to  have  that  difference  made 
apparent.  Seeing  her  conception  of  his  ambition  to 
write-a-book,  he  had  never  dared  reveal  that  he  had 
already  written  one  counted  good  by  a  few.  He  had 
not  told  her  that  he  was  that  Jeremy  Pride  whose 
papers  had  received  praise  from  one  or  two  discrim- 
inating corners. 

Now,  he  opened  a  lower  drawer  of  his  desk  and 
taking  out  a  small  brown  volume  handed  it  to  her.  It 
was  called  "Prismatic  Banking,  a  Fantasy,  being  the 
Suppressed  and  Romantic  Meditations  of  Jeremy 
Pride." 

The  old-fashioned,  unpopular  title,  the  name,  meant 
nothing  to  her.  She  puckered  her  brows  questioningly. 

"I  wrote  it,"  said  Amos. 

"You  have-written-a-book !"  exclaimed  Christina, 
still  conjugating. 

He  nodded  guiltily. 

"They  have  just  brought  it  out — collected  from  the 
magazine,  you  know.  Perhaps  you  saw  the  essays. 
.  .  .  But  no,  probably  everybody  skipped  them.  And 
no  one  will  read  this.  It  entirely  lacks — er — pep." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  said  his  wife  slowly,  "that 
men — real  editors — have  printed  what  you've  written 
and  paid  for  it?" 

He  winced. 

"Oh,  they  haven't  paid  much.  And  this  won't  sell. 
I  had  no  advance  royalties,  and  if  after  six  months  I 
get  a  check  for  two  hundred  dollars  it  will  be  more 
than  I  expect.  I  sha'n't  get  rich  writing." 


158  The   Golden  Answer 

"And  now,"  she  was  both  wondering  and  specu- 
lative, "you  are  doing  another!" 

"This,"  said  Amos,  with  a  sudden  lift  of  his  head 
and  shining  in  his  eyes  as  he  stared  ahead  at  the  wall 
paper,  "is  quite  different." 

She  stood  looking  at  him  for  a  long  moment.  She 
was  faintly  puzzled,  still  more  faintly  smiling.  Finally, 
she  reached  out  her  hand  and  touched  his  head  gently 
with  a  caressing  motion,  as  if  he  had  been  a  little  boy. 

"So  this,"  she  repeated,  even  timidly,  "is  different!" 

Then  she  went  quickly  out  of  the  room  and  shut  the 
door. 

After  that  she  never  interrupted  his  holiday  work  to 
tell  him  that  a  plumber  would  have  to  come  to-morrow. 
But  soon  something  else  interrupted  it — the  Atlantic 
Seaboard  Realty  Company. 

"Prismatic  Banking"  was  put  on  sale,  had  several 
good  reviews,  and  dropped  out  of  sight.  It  was  a 
bad  year  for  books.  But  Amos  achieved  the  dignity 
of  the  New  York  Public  Library,  and  one  college  put 
him  in  a  modern  essay  course.  He  insisted  on  keeping 
secret  his  identity,  so  that  he  had  no  local  fame. 

Then  by  and  by,  as  always  seems  to  happen  with 
reliable  routine,  spring  came.  With  it  came  an  event 
the  significance  and  the  result  of  which  were  different 
from  anything  Amos  or  Christina  Fortune  had  ever 
dreamed  of. 

In  the  city  spring  came  with  a  cobalt-blue  sky,  and 
white,  windy  clouds  drifting  far  above  white 
towers.  Around  the  city  streamed  its  two  blue  rivers, 
sparkling.  Bridges,  like  fairy-tale  giants  of  some 
fabled  age  of  splendor,  dared  to  leap  one  river,  cream- 
ing to  the  bows  of  far-bound  ships.  The  other  river 
rolled  untrammeled  to  its  gulf.  And  in  the  harbor 


The   Golden  Answer  159 

many  mighty  tides  rose  and  received  and  bore  away  the 
white-bowed  traffickers  to  the  blue  ocean. 

The  streets  of  the  city  were  tides  of  color.  Flashing 
automobiles,  brightly  appareled  women,  shop  windows 
in  rich  rivalry,  and  above  these,  against  the  sky,  whip- 
ping flags  of  blue  and  red  and  white,  all  went  rioting  in 
the  spring  wind,  an  orgy  of  gayety.  On  the  most 
crowded  corners  dark-eyed  men  from  warm  lands 
offered  arbutus  and  violets  and  golden  jonquils;  while 
flower  shops  in  long  blocks,  in  the  wholesale  florist 
districts,  gave  themselves  to  brilliance.  There  one 
passed  between  window  rows  of  tulips,  pink  and  red, 
of  daffodils  and  forget-me-nots,  spraying  Forsythia, 
sober  mignonette,  pale  primroses  and  Freesias,  starlike 
narcissus,  lilacs,  and  always  violets,  more  violets,  for 
sale.  And  in  the  parks  red  tulips  unattainable ! 

A  new  current  of  life  flowed  back  into  the  city,  into 
the  thronging  thoroughfares,  the  sweeping,  shining 
drives,  the  quaint  old  streets  of  red  brick  houses  in  the 
sun,  even  into  darker  Downtown,  where  spring  comes 
also,  and  is  made  vocal  in  merry  hurdy-gurdies  and 
young  laughter.  Something  sang  in  the  cool  air  that 
this  was  the  spring,  to  reach  up  and  out  and  take  what 
one  wanted,  to  think  clearly,  accomplish  mightily,  and 
achieve  desire,  to  love  if  one  ever  would. 

Amos,  walking  at  nightfall,  through  the  street  he  had 
called  the  Avenue  of  Tulips,  was  prompted  to  a  Puck- 
like  exchange  of  a  flying  phrase  with  a  small  boy  who 
was  running  swiftly,  eyes  far  ahead. 

"Why  are  you  running  so  fast?"  he  called. 

"I  feel  just  like  it !"  came  back  the  vanishing  answer. 

They  understood  each  other. 

Spring  came  to  the  country  more  demurely  and  not 
so  early,  a  much  more  delicate  affair.  Wild  flowers 


160  The   Golden   Answer 

hid,  and  were  not  flaunted ;  returning  birds  flashed  in 
quick,  thin  streaks  of  yellow,  blue  and  scarlet.  But  in 
despite  of  sweeter  delicacy  the  swelling  urge  to  joy  was 
deeper  and  wilder  here.  .  .  . 

With  spring,  and  also  with  the  lilacs  and  the  violets, 
though  not  so  modest,  came  Uncle  Benton  Hoyle — 
privately,  Uncle  Bells — on  business.  He  stayed  at  the 
small  house  in  the  lane,  to  save  hotel  bills,  though  he 
did  not  earn  his  bread  per  diem  but  lived  up  to  the 
advice  of  bond  advertisers,  "Make  your  money  work 
for  you."  He  still  had,  from  one  standpoint,  a  neat 
sum.  It  was  his  intention,  after  his  visit,  to  take  Chris- 
tina back  to  Boston  with  him. 

She  had  never  given  up  the  idea  (as,  indeed,  why 
should  she  give  it  up?)  of  this  spring  visit  with  her 
aunt ;  and  had  not  allowed  Amos  to  forget  it,  by  using 
the  simple,  direct  method  of  mentioning  it  once  a  fort- 
night, always  with  pretty  casualness.  He  expected  her 
to  go,  wanted  her  to  go  and  have  a  good  time,  but  it 
would  be  awkward  to  spare  the  money.  He  wished  to 
give  it  to  her  himself  for  the  trip,  and,  indeed,  he  knew 
from  other  uses  she  had  put  hers  to  that  she  did  not 
expect  to  spend  her  own  for  this. 

Christina  occupied  most  of  her  time  during  Uncle 
Bells's  visit  in  getting  new  clothes.  Amos  had  given 
her  a  preliminary  sum  for  that.  And  she  went  about 
in  happy  anticipation  that  made  him  wonder  if,  with 
all  he  knew  she  had  sincerely  felt,  the  winter  had,  on 
the  whole,  bored  her.  She  showed  him  the  clothes  as 
she  bought  them,  wisely  and  with  thrift,  but  with  an 
eye  to  good  material  that  made  the  prices  soar.  There 
were  a  delightful  "little"  corn-colored  silk  suit, 
and  a  daring  jade  evening  gown.  And  also  there  were 
two  simple  afternoon  dresses  (simple!),  and  a  plainly 
tailored  cloth  suit.  Hats,  shoes,  and  stockings  were 


The   Golden  Answer  161 

complements.  It  hardly  seemed  as  if  Christina  had 
worn  out  her  trousseau  of  variety;  but  if  these  things 
were  necessary  Mrs.  Amos  Fortune  must  have  them,  as 
long  as  it  was  possible.  The  figures  in  the  thrifty  note 
book  had  long  since  been  revised. 

The  last  day  of  Uncle  Bells's  visit  came.  Amos 
actually  welcomed  it;  though  he  knew  he  should  miss 
Christina  badly,  he  thought  that  it  meant  she  would 
stop  "getting  ready  to  go."  Being  merely  a  man  he 
had  not  guessed  that  there  would  also  be  shopping 
tours  with  Mrs.  Dana  in  Boston;  he  innocently  sup- 
posed that  everything  would  have  been  bought. 

That  morning  he  left  on  an  earlier  train  than  usual 
for  there  was  to  be  a  meeting  of  the  directors  of  the 
A.  S.  R.  Company  which  Mr.  Coxe  had  asked  him  to 
attend.  He  had  a  complicated  report  to  give,  which 
had  caused  him  many  sleepless  nights.  It  was  not  an 
encouraging  document. 

Uncle  Bells  was  going  on  the  night  train  to  Boston. 
He  had  a  settled  theory  that  daylight  should  not  be 
wasted  in  travel,  if  avoidable.  So  Christina,  used  to 
this  eccentricity,  was  going  with  him  on  the  10.22 
train.  Her  trunks  went  in  to  the  Grand  Central  Sta- 
tion during  the  day  to  be  claimed  and  checked  later. 

As  they  sat  that  evening  waiting  for  the  whistle  of 
Amos's  train,  which  was  always  the  signal  for  Johanna 
to  begin  to  "take  up"  the  dinner,  the  telephone  bell  rang. 
Harmony  answered  it,  and  came  to  stand  before  Chris- 
tina. 

"It  was  Amos,"  she  announced.  "He  said  he 
wouldn't  be  here  for  dinner,  and  he  rang  right  off." 

Christina  scowled.  She  disliked  any  kind  of  in- 
attention, especially  before  Uncle  Benton,  and  on  the 
part  of  a  husband,  the  choice  of  whom  he  had  ar- 
raigned. 


162  The   Golden   Answer 

"How  stupid!"  she  exclaimed,  really  saying  more 
than  she  felt,  unconsciously  for  effect.  "Tell  Johanna 
not  to  wait,  Harmony." 

After  the  early  dinner,  sunlight  still  dappled  the 
shady  street.  Country  sounds  fell  upon  the  quiet  air. 
In  the  garden,  where  the  grass  had  long  been  green, 
the  white  lilac  bush,  now  blossoming,  threw  off  a  cool 
fragrance.  The  library — where  stood  Amos's  ances- 
tral secretary,  and  where  Christina  and  Harmony  and 
Benton  Hoyle  sat  again  waiting  for  him — was  pleasant 
with  the  low  sunshine  and  the  new  chintzes  Christina 
had  chosen.  The  lilac  bush  now  and  then  brushed  one 
of  the  windows  inquiringly. 

He  was  long  in  coming ;  Christina  grew  restless  and 
piqued.  And  when  at  last  he  did  stand  in  the  doorway, 
with  Harmony,  the  only  one  who  had  gone  to  meet 
him,  by  his  side,  the  other  two  involuntarily  exclaimed. 

His  face  was  white,  with  a  queer  transparency.  The 
lines  that  cut  each  cheek  were  cruelly  deepened.  But 
his  eyes  were  brilliant,  though  his  very  shoulders 
looked  tired.  Christina  lost  color  herself. 

He  sat  down  in  the  large  chair  by  the  secretary, 
seemed  to  disappear  into  it  with  weariness.  Before  he 
had  said  a  word  Harmony  climbed  into  his  lap.  He 
spoke  quieuy  enough,  but  as  though  he  needed  to  clear 
his  throat. 

"The  Atlantic  Seaboard  Realty  Company  has 
failed,"  he  said. 

"I  don't  believe  it !"  It  was  Christina  who  cried  out 
sharply.  "It  isn't  true.  They  can't  have  failed !" 

"Absolutely.  Smashed.  Gone.  Done  for.  Not  a 
splinter  left  to  pick  up." 

"Most  unfortunate — for  all  directly  concerned," 
said  Uncle  Benton. 


The   Golden  Answer  163 

Amos  did  not  look  at  him.  He  opened  and  shut  a 
drawer  of  his  desk  without  intention. 

In  one  of  the  private  inner  drawers,  safely  locked, 
"Avalon,"  the  book,  lay.  He  could  always  feel  its  pres- 
ence as  he  felt  Christina's.  To-night  its  mute  beauty 
stabbed  him  in  the  heart.  He  had  locked  it  there, 
buried  alive,  for  the  sake  of  the  Atlantic  Seaboard 
Realty  Company,  which  had  failed.  No!  Stop  a 
minute!  for  the  company,  perhaps  outwardly,  but  in 
truth  in  the  service  of  something  more  beautiful  than 
any  book,  which  had  not  failed — yet ! 

Harmony  sat  in  his  lap,  silent  too,  and  the  others 
stood  over  him,  waiting  for  something,  it  almost 
seemed  as  if  for  an  apology.  But  he  ignored  that.  On 
the  pretext  of  kissing  the  back  of  Harmony's  neck  he 
buried  his  face  in  her  curls.  Then  he  smiled  at  Chris- 
tina. 

"Don't  worry,"  he  said ;  "I'll  do  something  about  it 
to-morrow." 

He  then  remembered  for  the  first  time  since  the 
opening  of  the  cataclysmic  meeting  that  morning  that 
Christina  was  supposed  to  be  going  to  Boston  to- 
morrow— no,  to-night.  Well,  of  course,  now  she 
would  not  go.  They  could  talk  things  out  minus  Uncle 
Bells.  It  must  be  almost  time  for  him  to  take  himself 
off.  Amos  intended  to  wait  for  Uncle  Bells's  departure 
before  he  spoke  of  details,  but  Christina  did  not  see 
that. 

"To-morrow!"  she  said  bitterly.  "The  time  to  do 
something  about  it  was  yesterday !" 

"You're  right,  dear.  It  certainly  was.  Yester- 
day. .  .  ." 

"Why  didn't  you,  then  ?  You  were  warned.  Other 
men " 


164  The   Golden   Answer 

"I  don't  believe  I  can  go  all  over  it  again  to-night. 
To-morrow — I  will  try  to  make  it  clear." 

"But  to-morrow "  Christina's  cheeis.  suddenly 

flamed  with  anger. 

He  interrupted  her  quietly,  his  look  closing  her  lips. 
"Have  you  eaten  dinner?  I  hope  you  didn't  wait  for 
me." 

"Yes,  we  ate,"  Harmony  spoke  up.  "Aren't  you 
hungry?  We  had  very  nice  mashed  potatoes  and  I 
had  Lake  Luzerne  in  mine,  you  know,  of  gravy.  I 
hate  the  Atlantic  Seaboard " 

"Hush,"  said  Amos,  hugging  her. 

Johanna  stood  in  the  doorway,  kind,  wise,  gray  eyes 
upon  him. 

"I've  kept  your  supper  hot,  sir.  Are  you  ready  for 
it?" 

"Thank  you,  Johanna.  That  was  nice  of  you.  I 
don't  want  any." 

"You  ought  to  eat,"  Johanna  stood  by  her  guns,  with 
a  glance  at  Mrs.  Fortune.  "You  know  yourself  you 
ought  to  eat,  sir." 

"Johanna,"  said  Christina  in  a  cold  voice,  "Mr.  For- 
tune knows  what  he  wants.  You  may  put  everything 
away." 

With  an  anxious  look  backward  Johanna  dis- 
appeared. 

They  would  not  let  him  alone. 

"A  man  must  have  some  experience,"  began  Uncle 
Bells  in  a  voice  that  boomed  out  in  the  now  shadowy 
room,  "before  he  learns  to  extricate  himself  from  such 
predicaments.  This  affair  is  certainly  unfortunate, 
most  unfortunate.  Is  Coxe  caught  too  ?" 

"I  believe  it's  not  serious  for  him,"  replied  Amos 
wearily. 

"There  are  ways  of  saving  yourself.     You  didn't 


The   Golden  Answer  165 

ask  my  advice,  didn't  want  it,  I  suppose.  I've  had 
years  of  experience,  more  years  than  Bertha  likes  me 
to  count,  getting  to  be  an  old  fellow;  haven't  done 
much  else  but  make  money.  I  could  have  told 
you " 

"He  was  warned "  interrupted  Christina,  unable 

to  forget  that  strong  point. 

"Uncle  Bell — Benton,"  suddenly  inquired  Amos, 
"do  you  remember  once  telling  me  about  your  carpen- 
ter shop?" 

"Wh — my — my — eh — what?"  Uncle  Bells  was  in- 
clined to  bluster. 

"Your  carpenter  shop,"  repeated  Amos  rather 
loudly,  as  if  Mr.  Hoyle  were  deaf.  "And  your  little 
airplane  that  wouldn't  fly?" 

Uncle  Bells,  his  under  lip  irritable,  said  stiffly,  on 
the  defensive: 

"I  believe  so,  I  believe  so.  You  have  an  extraor- 
dinary memory  for  minutiae." 

"Well,  I  would  rather  have  you  tell  me  about  your 
airplane  that  wouldn't  fly — you  gave  it  as  your  hobby, 
you  know,  your  Little  Dream,  than  hear  about  your 
business  experience,  your — er — methods  of — extricat- 
ing yourself." 

Christina  supposed  he  was  thinking  now  about  his 
made-up  music  teacher,  was  it?  or  somebody. 

"Christina!"  burst  out  her  uncle.  "My  poor  child, 
you  have  married  a  maniac !" 

He  stalked  to  the  window,  which  was  open,  thrust 
out  his  hand  and  angrily  yanked  a  spray  from  the 
white  lilac  bush,  finding  it  necessary  to  destroy  some- 
thing, and  then  threw  the  blossom  onto  the  ground 
under  the  window.  The  bush  flew  back  with  a  gentle 
swish  of  protest.  After  that  he  glared  at  his  watch 
and  looked  at  Christina. 


i66  The   Golden   Answer 

"Oh,  no,"  she  answered  slowly,  in  sharp,  cold  anger 
that,  too,  desired  to  hurt,  like  an  instrument  of  steel 
suddenly  animated;  "on  the  contrary  he  knows  what  he 
is  doing,  Uncle  Benton.  He  knew  all  the  time!" 

She  turned  upon  Amos,  and  she  had  never  looked 
lovelier  than  when  she  dealt  him  these  blows.  "I 
suppose  you  have  plans  to  support  your  family?  I 
suppose  they  are  included  in  what  you  will  say  to- 
morrow? That  is  why  I  am  not  to  worry!  Or  do 
you  still  consider  people  made  up  out  of  your  head — 
old  maid  music  teachers  who  never  existed — more  im- 
portant than  your  wife  and — and  somebody's  child?" 

It  seemed  that  he  could  not  look  at  her.  When  at 
last,  white  to  the  lips,  he  did  raise  his  eyes  to  hers,  their 
look  was  of  one  who  tried  not  to  see  what  was  all  too 
apparent. 

"I  expect  to  take  care  of  you  and  Harmony.  We 
shall  come  through  this  somehow,  together." 

Uncle  Bells  suddenly  snapped  his  old-fashioned 
watch. 

"In  the  meantime  don't  make  me  miss  my  train, 
Christina.  I  hope  you  won't  disappoint  your  aunt  be- 
cause of  this." 

A  stillness,  sudden  and  palpable,  dropped  down  and 
spread  in  the  room.  It  reacted  upon  Harmony  as  an 
unpleasant  presence  does  upon  a  little  animal.  With 
a  quick,  distressed  sound  she  put  her  arms  around 
Amos's  neck,  though  he  had  not  stirred  or  spoken.  Ex- 
cept for  that  the  silence  wa3  so  intense  that  Johanna's 
washing  the  silver  in  the  kitchen  became,  in  the  small 
house,  plainly  audible,  and  three  short  whistles  of  a 
locomotive  echoed  forlornly,  miles  away. 

"I  can't,"  said  Christina,  slowly  and  deliberately, 
"very  well  resurrect  the  Atlantic  Seaboard  Realty 
Company  by  staying,  can  I  ?" 


The   Golden   Answer  167 

As  she  spoke  she  looked  at  no  one,  addressed  no 
one;  but  after  a  moment  her  eyes  drew  to  Amos' s 
against  her  will.  There  was  a  breathless  pause  while 
their  eyes  held. 

"You  certainly  cannot,"  he  agreed  at  last. 

"I  will  stay  if  you  insist  upon  it,  but  I  don't  see  what 
/  can  do,"  she  spoke  directly  at  him  now. 

He  was  still  sitting  in  the  chair  by  his  desk,  and  he 
happened  to  notice,  just  then,  that  the  ink  in  the  ink 
well  was  all  dried  up.  Harmony  saw  the  line  in  his 
left  cheek  which  she  used  to  call  the  Perfectly  Beauti- 
ful Joke  Line,  quickly  cut  deep.  But  he  was  not 
exactly  smiling.  He  still  looked  up  at  Christina. 

"If  you  want  to  go,  you  had  better  run  along." 

"It's  not  necessary  to  speak  to  me  as  if  I  were  a 
child !  I  suppose  you  think  I  ought  not  to  go." 

"I  should  not  dream  of  keeping  you." 

Her  anger  seemed  to  have  frozen  into  something 
glazed  and  hard  and  perpetual.  "You  don't  approve 
of  my  business  methods  so  I  should  hardly  obtrude  any 
plans  of  my  own.  However,"  her  cool  voice  was  a 
martyr's,  "I'll  stay  if  you  demand  it." 

"I  shall  never  demand  anything  of  you,  Christina. 
When  have  I  done  that?  I  think  it  is  right — that  you 
should  go — and  make  your  visit." 

"You  must  hurry,"  interrupted  Benton  Hoyle,  "it's 
late.  I'll  just  telephone  for  a  taxi." 

Christina  suddenly  turned  without  speaking  and  left 
the  room. 

Harmony  ran  upstairs  after  her  in  excitement  over 
the  sudden  hurry. 

Amos  did  not  stir  from  the  chair  into  which  he  had 
first  dropped.  He  was  tired  to  the  bone.  As  he  said 
nothing  to  Mr.  Hoyle,  that  gentleman  went  out  to  walk 


i68  The   Golden   Answer 

up  and  down  the  porch  while  waiting.  Amos  was 
thankful  to  be  alone. 

The  spring  night  had  come  and  lights  had  sprung 
out  far  across  the  meadow.  The  library  was  almost 
dark.  Johanna,  a  shadowy  figure,  came  to  turn  on 
the  lamp,  but  he  waved  her  away.  There  were  sounds 
upstairs — of  Christina's  pretty  feet  tapping  lightly 
across  the  bedroom,  as  she  did  a  few  last  things.  He 
remembered  well  enough,  now,  that  she  had  been  ready 
to  go  that  morning.  How  had  he  come  to  forget,  even 
for  a  moment?  .  .  .  Harmony's  running  skip  fol- 
lowed Christina's  feet  everywhere.  He  smiled  at  that 
...  By  the  sound  there  seemed  to  be  a  great  many 
things  to  go  into  the  suit  case  at  the  last  minute.  There 
always  were.  He  remembered  how  heavy  it  had  been 
on  their  wedding  trip,  when  he  had  frequently  carried 
it  for  the  saving  of  tips,  to  Christina's  amusement. 

The  clock  struck  nine  with  unnecessary  solemnity. 
Then  he  heard  Christina's  voice  calling : 

"Can  you  come  up  and  carry  my  bag?  The  cab  is 
here." 

So  the  commonplace  asserted  itself. 

He  rose,  feeling  sick,  and  went  upstairs. 

Standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  in  their  room  he  gave 
her  some  money,  which  she  took  absently  and  thrust 
into  her  purse.  She  was  dressed  in  her  new,  smart 
spring  suit  of  brown  and  a  lovely  little  close  hat  with 
a  brown  tip,  that  drooped  and  kissed  her  ear,  but  was 
never  out  of  place  any  more  than  her  rippling  hair  was 
ever  untidy. 

Suddenly  he  spoke  to  her  passionately: 

"Christina,  we  mustn't  part  like  this,  even  for  a 
short  time !  How  did  it  ever  happen  ?  I  want  you  to 
go,  and  enjoy  yourself.  It  is  much  more  sensible. 
There  is  no  reason — why — why  you  shouldn't  go.  I 


The   Golden   Answer  169 

shall  be  busy;  it  is  just  a  little  visit  anyhow.  We're 
being  too  dramatic." 

"Yes,"  she  said.  She  looked  a  little  white  and  tired 
herself.  "It  seems  sensible  to  go  on,  and  make  this 
visit,  since  it  is  all  planned." 

"I'll  say  good-by  here,"  he  told  her. 

She  raised  her  eyes  and  actually  looked  hurt. 

"I  expected  you  would  come  to  the  station!" 

At  that  he  picked  up  the  heavy  bag  and  went  down- 
stairs and  out  to  the  porch,  where  he  left  it  for  the  cab 
driver,  and  went  back  for  his  hat. 

He  saw  Christina  kissing  Harmony  in  the  hall  and 
saying  good-by  to  a  solemn  Johanna.  Again  he  felt  a 
bitter  sickness  sweep  over  him,  a  physical  nausea.  He 
kissed  her  himself  by  the  front  door. 

He  drove  with  them  to  the  station,  where,  as  he  had 
expected,  Uncle  Bells  walked  off  and  left  him  to  pay 
for  the  taxicab. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

HILDA  stood  in  the  sunny  sitting  room  at  home  look- 
ing up  at  Charles  Brent.  Her  steady  eyes,  with  their 
keen,  lurking  amusement  always  confused  him,  as  no 
eyes  of  coquetry  had  ever  done.  Hilda's  were  boyish 
eyes,  in  spite  of  the  femininity  of  the  rest  of  her;  an 
understanding  observer  would  have  said,  from  the  look 
in  them,  that  she  found  Charles  Brent  amusing, 
as  an  elder  brother  thinks  a  younger  is  endearingly 
absurd. 

"All-day  picnic?"  she  was  saying.  "But  I'll  have 
to  make  conditions." 

"Go  ahead — bring  on  your  conditions,"  agreed  Mr. 
Brent  grimly. 

"First,  we  must  take  Harmony." 

"That's  easy,"  agreed  C.  M.,  brightening,  and  at  the 
same  time  curbing  a  disappointment  he  could  not 
exactly  lay  his  finger  on. 

"And  then  it  will  depend  on  how  Mother  is.  She — 
isn't  well,  exactly.  I  don't  know,  there  doesn't  seem 
to  be  anything  special  the  matter.  ...  So  if  you  want 
to  leave  it  like  that,  not  knowing  until  the  minute  be- 
fore we  start " 

"We'll  leave  it  any  way  you  say.  I'll  call  you  up 
after  breakfast  for  the  verdict." 

"I  may  not  be  able  to  get  Harmony,"  said  Hilda, 
smiling. 

"You'll  get  her  if  I  have  to  kidnap  the  child  of  For- 
tune!" 

Hilda's  truthful  frankness  was  even  more  efficacious 

170 


The    Golden   Answer  171 

than  well-plotted  retreats  and  hesitations.  In  all  serene 
sincerity  she  employed  a  time-honored  method.  She  kept 
the  man  uneasy  until  the  last  moment  over  his  chances 
of  seeing  her,  and  also  from  making  an  engagement 
with  any  other  girl  for  that  day.  But  C.  M.,  not  un- 
touched by  the  gay  give  and  take  involved  in  the  society 
of  ladies — sometimes  he  had  thought  it  mostly  take — 
would  never  have  dreamed  of  misinterpreting  that 
clarity  of  hers.  If  she  had  known  she  could  go  or — ah, 
there  was  the  rub — wanted  to  go  with  him  alone,  she 
would  have  said  so. 

After  C.  M.  had  left,  with  his  uncertainty  in  his 
bosom,  Hilda  stood  for  some  minutes,  perhaps  three, 
opposite  the  telephone,  before  she  called  for  Amos 
Fortune's  number  to  ask  if  she  might  have  Harmony 
for  the  next  day.  She  had  talked  with  him  only  once 
since  his  marriage,  and  that  a  conversation  which 
occupied,  from  beginning  to  end,  ten  minutes.  It  had 
taken  place  one  day  when  Amos  had  come  to  take 
Harmony  home,  for  the  little  girl  had  not  given  Hilda 
up  because  of  Christina's  advent.  She  often  asked, 
and  was  permitted  by  Amos's  order,  to  spend  Saturday 
afternoon  with  the  Martins. 

And  in  truth  Amos  would  not  have  "given  Hilda 
up,"  either,  if  Christina  had  not  that  winter,  to  his 
astonishment,  refused  to  invite  her  or  call  upon  her. 
He  felt  uncomfortable  and  ashamed  at  having  dropped 
a  friend,  for  the  attitude  Christina  forced  him  to  take 
toward  Hilda,  he  made  out,  was  one  that  really  pre- 
supposed, as  a  basis  of  Hilda's  and  his  relationship,  the 
status  of  an  "affair."  His  dropping  Hilda,  suddenly, 
not  any  longer  meeting  her  as  a  friend,  savored  of  the 
crude  triteness  of  its  being  necessary  to  be  off  with  an 
old  love,  etc.,  which  was  odious  and  untrue  and  an 
insult  to  Hilda,  for  affair  there  was  none,  God  knew ! 


172  The   Golden   Answer 

She  was  his  good  friend.    She  would  not  have  treated 
him  so. 

His  good  friend  stood  for  three  minutes  before  the 
telephone  into  which  traveled  the  wire  that  might  bring 
his  voice  to  her,  before  she  took  down  the  receiver 
with  a  shaking  hand.  .  .  .  She  knew  of  the  failure  of 
the  Atlantic  Seaboard  Realty  Company. 

Harmony  was  permitted  to  go  on  the  picnic,  and 
Mrs.  Martin  felt  well  the  day  of  the  event,  or  said  she 
did,  denying  paleness,  so  when  Charles  Brent  called 
Hilda  up,  on  Sunday  morning,  his  anxiety  was  stilled. 

It  was  a  soft,  sunny  June  morning  when  C.  M., 
shining  like  the  sun  himself  with  cheeriness,  put  Hilda 
and  Harmony  into  his  big  car  and  sped  off  with  them. 
In  the  tonneau  stood  a  substantial  English  tea-basket, 
which  Harmony,  upon  investigation,  found  was  full  to 
the  brim.  For  Mr.  Brent  had  forbidden  Hilda  to  bring 
so  much  as  one  pickle,  having  a  horror  of  picturing 
Mrs.  Martin  and  her  daughter  "fussing."  Hilda  ap- 
preciated this  considerateness  perhaps  more  than  the 
ride. 

They  flew  through  the  summer  country,  the  three  of 
them  sitting  in  front.  Harmony  was  at  her  happiest, 
except  that  once  she  looked  wistful,  and  said: 

"I  wish  Amos  was  here !" 

^  "Gee!"  exclaimed  C.  M.,  "Why'n't  I  ask  him?  ... 
Chump !"  he  added. 

Hilda  said  nothing.  She  wished  that  she  could  for- 
get about  the  Atlantic  Seaboard  Realty  Company. 
What  would  he  do  ? 

But  she  was  happy,  let  no  one  think  she  was  not. 
She  laughed  often  and  easily.  Her  arm  encircled  Har- 
mony, whom  she  loved;  occasionally  she  tickled  her. 
Charles  Brent  was  very  nice.  Sometimes  he  made  her 
think  of  a  seawall  that  no  waves  could  damage,  how- 


The   Golden   Answer  173 

ever  they  might  buffet  it.  She  liked  to  think  of  him 
that  way:  The  foundations  of  him  in  the  bottom  of 
the  sea,  his  head  defying  storms.  Of  course  a  seawall 
does  not  vibrate  delicately.  .  .  . 

They  went  the  long  way  around  to  the  place  chosen 
— that  seemed  to  be  Charles  Brent's  custom.  But  he 
explained  to  Hilda  that  it  was  better  to  have  the  ride 
first,  then  they  would  be  free  to  loiter  at  the  lake, 
knowing  they  had  but  a  short  journey  home.  So  that 
it  was  nearly  two  o'clock  and  they  were  very  hungry 
before  he  swung  around  to  a  shady  glen  beside  a  little 
blue  lake  with  a  tiny  river  running  into  it.  Here,  sit- 
ting on  his  far-voyaged  steamer  rug,  they  ate  from  his 
English  tea-basket  and  drank  lemonade  poured  from 
his  thermos  bottle,  laughing  and  having  a  light-hearted 
time  of  it.  After  luncheon  they  played  games  with 
Harmony,  and  took  a  walk  around  the  lake.  When 
they  had  returned  to  the  pleasant,  shady  spot,  Har- 
mony said: 

"Did  you  know  that  this  is  where  Amos  and  I  found 
Christina?" 

Hilda  started,  and  Charles  Brent's  expression  be- 
came a  little  strained. 

"You  'found'  her,"  repeated  Hilda,  "here!" 

"Yes."  Harmony  became  interestedly  reminiscent. 
"The  year  before  die  fairy  play — it  was.  Sitting  on 
the  shore  in  a  gold  sweater.  A  storm  was  coming  up, 
and  she  didn't  dare  go  back.  She  had  our  canoe." 

"What  was  she  doing — then — with  your  canoe?" 
Hilda  could  not  restrain  the  question. 

"She  had  to  take  it,  you  see,  to  run  away  from  some- 
one. I  think  it  was  partly  a  joke,  but  Amos  never 
splained  it  to  me.  So  we  had  to  take  an  awful  old 
boat  to  go  and  look  for  the  canoe.  An'  Christina  told 
us  vre  ought  to  paint  it — I  mean  our  canoe;  but  you 


174  The   Golden   Answer 

know  it's  quite  a  nice  one,  the  shape  is  perfectly 
lovely,  isn't  it,  Hilda?" 

"Yes." 

"It  wasn't  very  rough,  but  Christina  didn't  dare  go 
back  in  the  canoe — so  she  got  into  our  boat." 

"Oh." 

Charles  Brent  knew,  and  Hilda  had  read  it  in  the 
local  "society  column"  that  Christina  was  an  expert 
with  the  paddle.  Once  she  had  shot  difficult  rapids 
alone. 

"I  wonder,"  mused  Harmony,  "who  she  ran  away 
from.  Do  you  think  it  was  a  joke?" 

Charles  Brent's  face  became,  slowly  and  sullenly,  a 
painful  red.  He  gazed  across  the  river.  Hilda,  turn- 
ing to  him  for  aid  in  switching  Harmony's  mind  else- 
where, saw  the  conflagration,  saw  that  he  miserably 
knew  that  she  saw  it  and  understood.  She  laughed. 
There  really  were  the  elements  of  farce  in  this  situa- 
tion. 

"And  so,"  she  said  to  Harmony,  relieving  C.  M.  of 
her  candid  gaze,  "you  named  her  the  Discreet  Princess. 
Do  you  ever  call  her  that  now  ?  What  do  you  call  her 
every  day,  Harmony?" 

"I  call  her  Christina.  Amos  said  that  was  better 
than  such  a  royal  title,  for  every  day.  And  better  than 
Mama.  I  wanted  to  call  her  that." 

"You  did  ?  .  .  .  But  Amos  is  always  right,  isn't  he  ? 
Imagine  saying  'Discreet  Princess,  where  are  my  shoes, 
or — or — where  is  my  old  polka-dot  necktie?'  Ridic- 
ulous." 

Harmony  giggled. 

"This  morning  Amos  couldn't  find  the  tie  I  made  for 
him,  the  one  you  taught  me  how  to  crochet.  We  think 
maybe  Christina  took  it  with  her  to  wear  with  her  new 
silk  sport-shirt." 


The   Golden   Answer  175 

"Took  it  with  her,  Harmony!" 

"Yes." 

Hilda  looked  at  C.  M.,  who  was  normal  by  this 
time,  and  back  to  Harmony. 

"Why,  where  is  she?" 

"She's  gone  to  Boston.    Didn't  you  know?" 

"No." 

"She  went  the  day  we  struck." 

"What  on  earth — you  strange  child — struck  what?" 

"We  are  on  a  reef  now,  that's  rocks,  and  they  are 
probably  coral.  Amos  says  we  will  not  be  cast  away." 

Hilda  rose,  and  walked  down  the  river.  Charles 
Brent  told  Harmony  to  stay  with  him. 

On  the  river  the  summer  sun  sparkled,  making  all 
the  little  waves,  which  were  hurrying  by  the  smooth, 
green  meadows,  shine  and  look  inconsequently  gay. 
How  strange  to  remember  the  inperturbability  of 
nature !  The  river  did  not  know  it  was  there,  or  that 
it  was  beautiful.  It  flowed,  blind,  senseless,  uncon- 
scious of  bulk  or  shape.  Once  she  had  run  from  the 
ocean  in  fright  at  the  overwhelming  thought  that  in 
all  its  terrifying  vastness  it  did  not  know  it  was  there. 
That,  to  be  sure,  was  another  aspect  of  inanimate 
beauty. 

Christina  made  her  think  of  the  river.  She  seemed 
to  be  as  unconscious  of  direction,  and  of,  at  least,  the 
consequences  of  her  beauty.  She  traveled  on,  glitter- 
ing, over  sandy  or  muddy  or  rocky  bottom.  She 
shaped  herself  and  her  course  according  to  the  slant  of 
circumstances — and  to  the  wind.  .  .  . 

Hilda  was  gone  an  hour,  and  when  she  came  back 
she  found  Charles  Brent  looking  guilty  and  Harmony 
full  of  guile.  Harmony  kissed  her  several  times  and 
tried  to  tell  her  a  story  about  Diana,  also  named  Arte- 


176  The    Golden   Answer 

mis,  but  Hilda,  enlightened  by  C.  M.'s  expression, 
would  not  listen. 

"Harmony,  look  at  your  feet.  What  have  you  been 
doing?" 

Harmony  became  forlorn. 

"I  walked  in  the  brook." 

"I  should  say  you  had !    What  did  you  do  that  for?" 

"Well,  you  see,  Hilda,  one  foot  slipped  in,  and  I 
thought  I  might  as  well  wet  both." 

"Your  feet !  You're  wet  to  your  knees,  and  look  at 
that  mud !  Mr.  Brent,  I  left  her  with  you.  Why  didn't 
you  watch  her?" 

"Well,  I  got  to  thinking  about  something,"  confessed 
Charles  Brent  miserably,  "and  when  I  looked  around 
the  child  was  in  the  mud." 

Hilda  burst  into  laughter  at  their  fallen  aspect. 

"I'm  not  going  to  eat  you  for  it,"  she  told  them. 
"But  this  means  we  must  go  home  at  once.  Harmony 
takes  cold  easily.  Mr.  Brent,  kindly  scrape  her  with 
this  stick  while  I  pack  up  the  tea-basket." 

So  another  picnic  on  the  river  came  to  an  unlooked- 
for  end.  They  wrapped  Harmony  in  a  rain  coat  from 
Charles  Brent's  well  supplied  car,  and  took  her  home. 

Amos  Fortune  came  to  the  gate  when  the  car 
stopped.  He  had  a  book  in  his  hand.  It  was  Sir 
Philip  Sidney's  "A  Defense  of  Poesy."  He  had  risen 
from  his  old  deck  chair  on  the  veranda  when  he  saw 
them  corning. 

Hilda  thought,  as  he  stood  by  the  gate,  glad  to  see 
them,  that  the  winter  and  spring  had  changed  him.  He 
looked  both  older  and  younger !  Or  was  it  that  no  one 
could  hold  a  memory  equal  to  the  reality  of  his  vital 
presence,  a  spirited  energy  of  voice  and  look  that  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  flesh? 

He  lifted  Harmony  down,  holding  her  muddy  legs 


The  Golden  Answer  177 

Bnd  skirts  at  a  distance  in  dismay,  and  he  asked  Hilda 
and  Charles  Brent  to  come  in. 

When  Harmony,  sneezing,  confessed  her  crime,  he 
commanded  her,  with  a  mixture  of  alarm  and  amuse- 
ment in  his  eyes,  to  take  a  hot  bath  and  go  to  bed. 

"Let  me  help  her,"  pleaded  Hilda.  "Johanna  is  out 
on  Sunday  afternoons,  isn't  she  ?" 

He  nodded  and  went  upstairs  with  them. 

"The  towels  are  in  that  closet,  and  here's  her  night- 
gown. Are  you  cold,  dear?"  He  felt  Harmony's 
hands. 

Hilda  had  always  seen  that  anything  wrong  with 
Harmony  could  throw  Amos  into  a  passion  of  anxiety. 

"I  don't  want  to  go  to  bed,"  said  the  little  girl. 

He  put  his  hand  under  her  chin  and  lifted  up  her 
face. 

"But,  you  see,  this  naturally  follows  walking  in 
brooks.  This  is  what  you  chose !  Understand  ?" 

A  long  look  passed  between  them,  each  pair  of 
brown  eyes  searching  the  other,  until  they  both  smiled. 

"Yes,"  Harmony  finally  answered. 

Hilda,  going  to  turn  on  hot  water  in  the  bathroom, 
thought  that  she  had  never  before  seen  punishment 
like  that. 

She  bathed  Harmony  joyfully  and  put  her  to  bed. 
She  preferred  this  occupation  to  her  work  in  the  South 
Sea  House.  It  seemed  to  her  to  be  just  as  broadening 
as  compound  interest.  The  warm,  soft  water,  the 
delicate-scented  green  oval  of  lemon  verbena  soap, 
Harmony's  velvet  body,  was  not  this  all  more  "real" 
than  figures  that  represented  paper  that  represented 
gold  locked  in  a  vault,  all  of  which  was  not  hers  any- 
way? And  supposing  Harmony  were  hers?  (Who 
were  these  mad  women  who  talked  about  getting  out 
into  "real  life"  and  doing  things  that  counted?) 


178  The   Golden   Answer 

Harmony's  conversation  was  entertaining,  but  she 
did  not  listen  to  it.  She  was  thinking  about  the  woman 
who  had  been  Harmony's  mother. 

Harmony  wanted  her  doll  to  sleep  with  her.  It 
was  in  Amos's  room.  Harmony  spoke  of  it  as  Amos's 
room  and  Hilda  thought  of  it  as  Christina's.  She 
went  in  to  get  the  doll,  who  was  lank  and  naked  and 
named  Diana!  The  door  to  the  closet  was  open 
slightly,  and  on  it  hung  a  yellow  kimono.  The  silken 
thing  drooped  there,  languid  and  pretty,  left  behind. 

Hilda,  standing  in  the  middle  of  that  cool  gray  and 
yellow  room,  holding  the  awful  doll,  was  without  warn- 
ing filled  with  overwhelming  rage.  For  the  first  time 
in  her  life  a  sickening,  blinding,  killing  jealousy  shook 
her. 

Downstairs  Amos  and  Charles  Brent  were  talking 
in  serious  voices.  They  stopped  when  she  came  into 
the  library. 

Amos  seemed  to  hate  to  have  them  leave  him. 
Finally  he  asked  them  to  stay  and  eat  with  him.  He 
explained  that  Johanna  had  left  his  supper  in  the  re- 
frigerator and  that  he  would  fix  up  something  else  if 
they  would  stay. 

Hilda,  not  caring  at  all  about  "appearances,"  decided 
to  stay. 

"Christina  is  away  on  a  little  visit,"  he  explained, 
looking  at  her  in  an  approving  manner.  (How  she 
longed  to  do  her  hair  over!)  "But  you  won't  mind, 
will  you?  I'll  see  that  you  don't  starve." 

"I'm  not  afraid,"  she  laughed. 

She  got  the  supper,  with  Amos's  help,  in  the  yellow 
and  white  kitchen,  while  Charles  Brent  looked  on.  The 
eyes  with  which  he  followed  her  were  thoughtful. 

Her  body  felt  light  and  quick  all  over,  and  im- 
mensely skillful. 


The    Golden   Answer  179 

At  supper  they  talked  about  the  South  Sea  House, 
and  you  would  have  thought  it  a  gay,  heavenly  place. 
C.  M.  sat  silent  and  bewildered  in  Christina's  chair, 
where  Hilda  had  contrived  to  put  him.  The  early 
dusk  descended  on  the  garden.  Harmony  called  down- 
stairs for  more  milk  toast. 

Amos,  eating  little,  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  smoked, 
looking  from  Hilda  to  Charles  Brent. 

"I  wish  you  two  could  come  and  see  us  often,"  he 
said  all  at  once,  and  Hilda  put  it  down  as  the  first 
awkward  thing  she  had  ever  heard  him  say.  "We'll 
have  some  parties.  And  you  must  come  again,  too, 
while  Christina  is  gone." 

Hilda's  mind  ran:  All  right,  I  don't  care,  I'll  come 
if  he  wants  me,  I  will ! 

When  they  were  going  she  and  Amos  stood  near  the 
secretary  alone  for  a  moment.  She  looked  up  at  him. 

"Remember;  don't  let  it  die,"  she  said,  "the  thing 
that  couldn't.  Jeremy  Pride — but  especially  the  other !" 

His  eyes  grew  bright. 

"I  don't  forget,"  he  told  her. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  most  immediate  result  of  Christina's  departure 
for  her  visit  was  for  Amos  the  sudden  acquisition  of 
more  time.  This,  coupled  with  the  fact  that  it  was  no 
longer  necessary  to  go  to  the  offices  of  the  defunct 
Realty  Company,  whose  affairs  were  in  the  "hands  of 
a  receiver,"  created  around  him  desert  spaces  of  hours. 
In  this  desert  he  sat  down  to  sum  up  his  situation. 

The  actual  physical  sickness  which  had  attacked  him 
when  he  saw  that  Christina  meant  to  carry  out  her 
plans  did  not  pass  away  immediately.  Because  he  had 
so  far  refused  to  face  the  meaning  of  her  action,  that 
meaning  remained  in  the  background  of  his  mind,  or, 
in  what  seems  the  truer  language  of  feeling,  at  the 
bottom  of  his  heart,  manifesting  itself  in  a  heaviness 
of  the  limbs  and  a  pervading  soreness,  as  of  a  bruise. 
It  occurred  to  him  in  this  connection  to  wonder,  if  a 
mental  and  spiritual  state  could  cause  such  a  condi- 
tion, how  much  there  might  be  to  the  philosophy  which 
premised  the  mind's  control  of  matter.  He  put  that 
aside  for  further  thinking. 

He  tried  to  put  all  aside  for  further  consideration 
except  the  immediate  and  pressing  necessity  of  finding 
another  "South  Sea  House."  He  must  make  plans,  he 
must  establish  other  business  connections,  at  once.  He 
must  earn  money.  For  with  the  ruin  of  the  Realty 
Company,  whose  land  had,  after  all,  not  been  quite  so 
tangible  as  it  sounded,  had  gone  all  his  capital — little 
enough.  He  had  literally  only  a  few  hundred  dollars 
in  the  world. 

180 


The   Golden   Answer  181 

He  was  amazed  by  the  sudden  realization  of  how 
many  men  sailed  their  smartly  rigged  vessels  thus  close 
to  the  wind.  The  loss  of  work,  or  death,  would  in 
millions  of  cases  precipitate  almost  immediate  want. 
These  were  they  whom  Mr.  Coxe  had  called  fools. 
Well,  that  was  one  way  of  looking  at  it,  certainly! 

He  must  reestablish  himself  immediately,  to  be 
ready  for  Christina  when  she  came  back.  And  so  he 
took  stock  of  himself,  trying  to  put  on  strength  for 
this  phase  of  his  adventure.  For  in  all  the  situations 
into  which  his  life  had  taken  him,  he  suddenly  felt  this 
to  be  the  strangest. 

He  was  not  unfamiliar  with  beginning  again.  When 
he  had  taken  Harmony  and  gone  to  work  at  the  South 
Sea  House,  that  had  been  a  beginning.  He  had  chosen 
that  kind  of  work  without  very  much  thought,  perhaps 
not  wisely,  because  it  presented  itself.  It  was  steady 
and  hard  and  respectable.  He  had  felt  that  he  needed 
the  discipline  of  its  arduous  routine.  Then,  as  now,  he 
had  been  almost  wholly  without  money,  and  at  that 
time  he  was  unaccustomed  to  being  without  it.  An- 
other man  in  his  situation,  having  a  dilettante  art, 
might  have  scorned  a  "job"  and  tried  to  rely  on  that, 
would  have  become  a  scribbler  of  mediocre  things  for 
money,  a  cheap  and  unsuccessful  railer  against  fortune 
in  a  garret.  Amos  had  thought  too  well  of  himself  and 
too  little  of  himself  for  that.  Having  written  only  in 
leisure  for  the  sheer  fun  of  the  thing,  it  had  not 
occurred  to  him  to  spoil  his  fun  for  his  living,  and, 
besides,  he  had  not  dreamed  anyone  would  buy  what  he 
wrote.  It  was  only  when  the  leisure  was  gone  forever, 
and  the  work  of  the  South  Sea  House,  having  accom- 
plished what  he  had  hoped  it  would  accomplish,  had 
become  an  irksome  familiar,  that  the  chains  were  felt, 
and  he  had  longed  to  break  them  and  be  himself  all  the 


182  The    Golden   Answer 

hours  of  his  day.  Then  had  come  another  and  more 
passionate  longing,  and  he  had  become  even  more 
tightly  bound.  Now  that  it  was  necessary  to  find 
another  South  Sea  House  he  wondered  if  he  had 
chosen  wisely  long  ago,  for  it  was  upon  this  experience 
that  he  must  now  rely  in  looking  for  work. 

He  had  a  university  education  and  the  polish  of 
travel,  as  had  all  his  forebears,  but  no  profession.  In 
his  own  class  he  corresponded  to  the  unskilled  laborer 
in  the  industrial  class.  Lacking  a  profession,  an  estab- 
lished business,  and  capital,  he  must  take  up  with  the 
odd  job,  and  make  a  place  for  himself.  He  had  through 
bad  luck,  combined  with  the  urgent  necessity  of 
routine,  stumbled  into  a  position  where  there  was  no 
future  to  speak  of.  Many  a  man  with  brains  had  done 
the  same.  Gradually  he  had  seen  that  only  his  hobby, 
his  divine  fooling,  his  "little  dream,"  would  pull  him 
out 

(He  wanted  to  take  everyone  else  out  with  him.  He 
forgot  that  they  did  not,  all  of  them,  have  dreams.) 

And  then  he  had  hazarded  even  that  crystal  hope  for 
his  other  greater  adventure.  It  was  the  most  char- 
acteristic thing  he  could  have  done. 

Amos  started  with  the  idea  that  perhaps  his  ex- 
perience in  essay  writing  might  give  him  an  entrance 
in  magazine  or  newspaper  offices.  He  was  uncertain 
what  to  ask  for,  but  knew  that  if  he  were  given  a  desk 
and  a  job  in  an  office  of  this  kind  he  could  do  the 
work.  But  there  was  a  conspiracy  against  letting  him 
try.  He  visited  most  of  the  magazine  and  newspaper 
offices  in  New  York,  receiving  for  the  most  part  cour- 
teous, but  occasionally  surly,  treatment.  Everyone  who 
had  a  job  was  holding  on  to  it.  He  even  went  to  the 
women's  magazines.  In  the  office  of  one  of  these  he 
claimed,  as  a  likely  qualification,  to  know  something 


The   Golden   Answer  183 

about  children.  The  young  woman  who  interviewed 
him,  he  felt,  regarded  him  with  curiosity  tinged  with 
pity.  She  was  a  little,  exuberant,  red-haired  thing, 
with  large  eyes  that  looked  him  over  and  patronized 
him.  She  was  very  kind,  and  asked  him  to  fill  out  an 
application  blank,  to  be  filed. 

When  it  became  plain  that  no  magazine  or  news- 
paper staff  required  his  editorial  assistance,  he  tried  his 
hand  at  hack-writing  and  pot-boilers,  turning  these 
out  in  the  evening  when  he  could  not  pursue  his 
search.  He  sold  two  short  articles  for  equally  short 
checks,  but  the  rest  came  back,  showing  the  tin- 
reliableness  of  article  writing  as  a  livelihood.  Then, 
with  his  tongue  in  his  cheek,  he  wrote  a  melo- 
dramatic love  story,  which  he  sent  to  The  Yellow 
Book.  It  was  returned  promptly  with  a  printed 
slip.  This  he  deserved  and  knew  it.  After  that  he  spent 
ten  evenings  on  a  new  "Prismatic  Banking"  paper. 
The  idea  was  excellent.  He  realized  that  the  essay 
was  one  of  the  best  he  had  done,  better  than  several  of 
the  series  in  The  Atlantic  Monthly.  He  sent  the  manu- 
script off  with  confidence.  It  was  a  blow  to  receive  a 
letter  from  the  editor,  saying  that  the  charm  of  the 
paper  was  indisputable,  that  no  one  regretted  more 
than  he  the  fact  that  it  did  not  seem  wise  to  continue 
the  series.  Amos  thought  that  he  regretted  it  even 
more  than  the  editor. 

So  he  turned  to  the  work  in  which  he  had  had  the 
most  experience.  Fortified  with  his  letters  from  the 
South  Sea  House,  he  made  the  round  of  the  banks.  It 
was  extraordinary  to  see  how  these  slaving  souls 
hugged  their  chains.  Apparently  no  one  ever  left  a 
desk  where  it  was  his  privilege  to  pass,  with  his  nose  in 
a  ledger,  the  time  allotted  him  in  a  world  of  fields, 
mountains,  trackless  skies,  and  five  oceans. 


184  The    Golden   Answer 

At  last  he  ventured  to  go  back  to  the  South  Sea 
House  itself. 

They  had  told  him  to  return  if  he  wanted  to.  How 
he  once  scorned  the  idea!  He  went  down  among  the 
roaring  thoroughfares  to  the  smoky  antique  bank. 
Standing  outside  its  gloomy  doors  he  turned  his  back 
upon  them  and  looked  up  at  the  Bridge.  It  had  not 
changed  in  aspect,  though  those  who  passed  over  it  and 
under  it  had  changed.  Everything  changed  but  the 
Bridge.  It  still  made  its  daring  plunge — and  reached 
the  other  side.  .  .  .  That  was  all  that  counted:  to 
build  enduringly  and  gracefully.  To  add  a  strong, 
subtle,  and  beautiful  element  to  that  harmony  which 
was  most  to  be  desired  and  worshiped. 

He  turned  and  went  into  the  South  Sea  House, 
doubting  if  he  himself  were  building  such  a  bridge. 

He  sought  Hilda  first,  and  joked  with  her  about 
being  "out  of  a  job."  She  showed  no  surprise,  because 
it  was  not  in  her  to  dissimulate.  And  why  should  she  ? 

She  was  in  a  room  lighted  wholly  by  electricity  and 
around  which  was  built  an  iron  network,  making  a 
cage.  The  air  was  very  bad.  There  were  two  other 
"girls"  in  the  room  with  her — one  probably  forty-five 
years  old,  the  other  about  sixty.  Also  two  very  sub- 
ordinate young  men,  whose  shirt  cuffs  were  turned 
back,  as  were  their  coat  sleeves,  showing  a  soiled  lining 
that  rubbed  on  their  blackened  desks.  These  persons 
all  greeted  Amos  with  interest  and  a  limited  good  will, 
returning  to  their  tasks  while  he  talked  in  a  low  tone 
with  Hilda. 

She  looked  pale,  sweet,  sturdy,  and  businesslike  as 
she  raised  grave  eyes  to  his. 

"I  think  there  might  still  be  a  chance  for  you  here," 
she  told  him,  making  triangles  on  a  piece  of  blotting 
paper,  "although  of  course  your  old  job  is  filled.  You 


The   Golden   Answer  185 

can  see  the  men  over  there."  She  indicated  an  ad- 
jacent compartment.  "I  hear  they  have  made  good. 
Still,  there  may  be  something  else.  Why  not  go  in 
now  and  talk  with  Mr.  Carlton  ?" 

"I  will,"  he  answered.    But  he  lingered. 

"How  is  your  work  going  ?"  he  asked,  knowing  the 
question  was  inane.  The  grave  eyes  were  quickly 
invisible ;  he  found  himself  looking  at  very  white  lids 
and  suddenly  thought  of  the  petals  of  Annunciation 
lilies. 

"Very  well  indeed,"  she  said  with  heartiness. 
"We've  had  some  interesting  business  on  which  I've 
done  the  figuring.  By  the  way,  Captain  Joel  Mayo's 
son  had  a  successful  voyage  to  the  Arctic,  and  a  change 
of  heart.  He's  come  back  and  paid  the  mortgage  on 
the  Seagull,  and  Captain  Joel  and  he  are  in  partner- 
ship. I  believe  the  lady  with  the  hair  fell  in  love  and 
remained  in  the  north." 

Amos  was  interested. 

"I  got  the  notes  on  that  you  sent  me.  I  had  so  much 
to  think  of  that  I  never  thanked  you.  But  the  essay 
that  I  wrote  around  it  (using  the  part  about  the  neat 
little  boy — inimitable!)  was  returned.  So  Ethan  has 
repented,  has  he?  Perhaps  he  was  too  neat.  Bring 
up  a  child,  etc." 

"It  came  back!"  said  Hilda.  "What  luck!  How 
stupid  of  them!" 

"Oh,  well —  Now  I'll  go  in  and  see  Carlton.  .  .  . 
When  Christina's  visit  is  over  we  four  must  have  din- 
ner together.  I  like  Brent." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Hilda. 

His  interview  with  benevolent  old  Mr.  Carlton  lasted 
ten  minutes. 

"I  like  you,  Fortune,  and  I  like  your  work,"  said 
Joseph  Carlton,  finally,  when  matters  were  understood 


i86  The    Golden   Answer 

between  them.  He  was  the  go-between  who  linked 
the  members  of  the  firm  with  the  employees ;  he  did  the 
"hiring  and  firing."  "That  was  an  unfortunate  affair, 
that  Realty  Company.  It  looked  good.  I  admit  it 
looked  good  to  me.  I  lost  a  little.  Quite  a  little.  .  .  . 
I'd  like  to  have  you  back  here.  Faithful  service.  Man 
of  different  stamp — you  understand  me.  Might  be  a 
chance  for  advancement.  In  fact,  I  was  thinking  about 
it  when  you  left.  Couldn't  offer  you  then  the  equiv- 
alent of  what  you  were  going  to.  Now — times  are 
uncertain.  Very.  I'm  not  taking  on  anybody  new.  All 
I  could  do  would  be  to  let  someone  go — say  two  people. 
That  would  give  you  an  entering  wedge,  and  we'd  see." 
"But,"  said  Amos,  "I  couldn't  do  that!" 
"Now,  now,  not  so  fast.  It  might  be  to  the  best 
interests  of  the  firm  as  well  as  of  you.  They're  two 
girls  I  had  in  mind.  Or,  rather,  one's  getting  old ;  she 
makes  mistakes.  I  think  she  lied  about  her  age  to  me 
when  she  came.  They'll  do  that.  No  scruples  at  all 
about  it.  She's  aged  in  two  years.  Mistakes  won't  do. 
And  then  there's  that  little  one — younger — you  used 
to  know  her.  She's  a  bright  little  thing.  But  she's 
lost  interest.  They  do  sometimes  at  her  age.  It's 
because  it's  the  time  when  they  get  a  man  for  good  or 
else  they  don't.  I  know ;  I've  got  three  old-maid  sisters. 
Three!  I'll  fire  those  two  and  take  you  back." 

The  next  moment  Joseph  Carlton  had  the  oddest 
sensation  of  his  life.  He  suddenly  found  himself 
straining  back  in  his  leather  chair  to  remove  his  person 
as  far  as  possible  from  the  proximity  of  hard  knuckles 
being  shaken  in  his  face,  from  a  tower  of  anger,  from 
a  close,  white  mouth  that  was  pouring  into  his  face  a 
stream  of  low-voiced  and  elegantly  chosen  profanity. 
In  short,  Joseph  Carlton  was  being  insulted  in  his  own 
office.  If  an  office  boy  had  not  at  that  moment  burst 


The    Golden   Answer  187 

in  with  a  sheaf  of  telegrams  he  felt  it  quite  likely  that 
he  would  have  been  injured  in  a  personal  physical  way 
unknown  to  civilization.  But  even  the  office  boy  could 
not  stop  the  forceful  and  succinct  summary  with  which 
his  visitor  concluded  an  estimate  of  his  character. 
With  joyful  admiration  for  youth,  belligerence,  and 
fluency  the  office  boy  watched  the  tower  of  anger 
depart.  Then  he  and  the  white,  soft  old  man  stared 
at  each  other.  Such  is  the  contamination  of  associa- 
tion that  Joseph  Carlton,  reaching  a  shaking,  wrinkled 
hand  for  a  glass  of  water,  remarked  quite  loudly: 

'Til  be  damned!" 

Thus  it  happened  that  Amos  did  not  return  to  the 
South  Sea  House.  And  Hilda  knew  why  he  did  not 
return,  for  the  office  boy,  who  was  her  admiring  friend, 
reported  the  flaming  summary  in  detail  to  her.  He  had 
listened  with  such  fascinated  attention  that  he  had  the 
main  points  quite  correct. 

Amos  worried  about  what  old  Joseph  Carlton  had 
said  about  Hilda's  work.  Some  other  man  out  of  a 
job  might  not  be  so  scrupulous  as  he.  He  wrote  her  a 
letter  explaining  that  there  had  been  nothing  offered 
him  which  he  could  take,  and  adding,  after  delibera- 
tion, that  he  thought  from  something  Carlton  had  said 
that  if  she  spurted  up  she  might  get  an  increase  in 
salary. 

He  now  faced  an  extraordinary  situation:  A  man 
with  a  good  education,  experience  of  a  sort,  an  art,  and 
a  few  friends  to  speak  for  him  (Charles  Brent  had 
come  forward  voluntarily),  can  go  for  months  without 
finding  work,  given  just  the  right  combination  of  cir- 
cumstances. Circumstance  of  course  did  it,  that  flighty 
but  implacable  creature  which  some  of  us  are  tempted 
to  call,  with  what  provocation !  the  only  god.  It  "hap- 
pened" now  that  the  financial  break  prophesied  by 


The    Golden   Answer 

wiseacres  a  year  ago  had  come.  Some  men  must  break 
with  it;  Amos  knew  that. 

With  the  passage  of  time  his  efforts  to  find  work 
became  hurried  and  nervous,  not  so  well  directed. 
Christina's  visit,  already  somewhat  prolonged,  would 
soon  be  drawing  to  its  close !  (  She  had  been  writing 
him  once  a  week,  serene,  brief  letters  that  ignored  the 
consciousness  of  anything  unusual  having  occurred; 
and  he  had  answered  in  the  same  vein.)  His  ill- 
directed  efforts  had  the  same  results  as  those  most 
carefully  thought  out,  as  one  might  expect,  though 
when  the  God  of  Chance  is  with  a  man  he  sometimes 
gains  by  a  happy  fluke  what  no  effort  will  win  him. 

At  the  end  of  the  summer  he  had  not  succeeded  and 
something  drastic  had  to  be  done.  His  money  was 
going  rapidly.  He  could  no  longer  pay  Johanna. 
Therefore  it  was  clear  that,  though  it  would  break 
Harmony's  heart,  temporarily,  and  be  a  wrench  for 
him,  Johanna  must  go. 

After  an  especially  ignominious  afternoon  in  which 
he  had  been  turned  away  by  an  oily,  ungrammatical 
little  politician,  he  called  her  in  to  break  the  news  to 
her.  He  stood  before  the  elder  Amos  Fortune's  desk 
summoning  courage  to  face  her.  Johanna  was  salvage 
from  the  past.  She  had  been  a  housemaid  in  his  father's 
home,  many  years  ago.  She  had  known  his  brother. 
It  seemed  to  bring  him  to  a  sharp  edge  of  forlornness 
to  be  obliged  to  cut  himself  off  from  this  cool,  stern 
old  serving  woman  who,  alone  of  those  he  lived  among, 
had  known  his  brother,  whom  he  had  loved. 

He  swung  around  to  her,  when  he  heard  her  in  the 
doorway,  and  smiled  by  way  of  keeping  his  courage  up 
to  the  point  to  which  he  had  screwed  it.  She  laid  her 
hand  on  her  side. 

This  angular,  gray-gowned  woman  with  white  hair 


The   Golden   Answer  189 

was  as  silent  and  austere  as  she  was  faithful  and  lov- 
ing. She  seldom  expressed  herself  by  gesture  or  word. 
She  kept  her  distance,  which  she  thought  of  as  "her 
place,"  year  in  and  year  out. 

Looking  at  her  now,  Amos  Fortune  had  a  strange 
impulse  to  throw  his  arms  around  her  neck  and  put  his 
head  on  her  shoulder.  Instead,  he  said  quickly: 

"Johanna,  I'm  out  of  work  and  most  particularly 
stony-broke.  I  can't  afford  to  go  on  paying  you  until 
I  get  work  and  am  in  funds  again.  I  think  you'd  better 
take  another  place  for  the  winter.  Then,  I  hope,  you'll 
come  back  to  us." 

Johanna  looked  at  him,  clear-eyed.  Her  voice  was 
calm  and  respectful: 

"I've  got  money  in  the  bank,  sir.  I'd  be  happy  to 
have  you  owe  me  the  pay — until  spring." 

"Spring,  Johanna,"  he  said  sadly.  "But  it's  not  the 
first  of  September  yet.  You  see,  I  can't  afford  you.  I 
-— I  might  not  be  able  to  pay  you  then !" 

Johanna  rubbed  her  brown  hand  across  her  cheek 
and  returned  it  to  her  side. 

"When  I  looked  at  my  bank  book  last  evening,  I  was 
thinking  about  it  all,  Mr.  Amos.  Your  father  and 
mother,  and — and — your  brother,  and  all,  and,  thinks 
I,  I  don't  need  so  much  money  as  I've  got  saved.  .  .  . 
I'd  like  to  stay,  if  you  please,  and  when  it's  convenient, 
you  can  begin  again  to  pay  me.  I  know  you're  a  one 
debts  worries.  I  wouldn't  have  you  contracting  'em! 
Not  to  me !" 

He  went  close  to  her  and  took  her  large,  hard,  brown 
hands,  covering  them  with  both  of  his. 

"I'll  never  forget  that.  It's  worth  losing  a  lot  to 
hear  that.  But  you  can't  do  it  for  me,  dear  Johanna ; 
not  even  for  'us/  for  I  know  you  remember  all  of  us. 
I'm  afraid  you  remember,  in  that  silence  of  yours, 


190  The   Golden   Answer 

things  anything  but  good ;  but  you  can't  remember  our 
doing  one  like  that,  can  you?" 

She  bent  her  head  and  took  her  hands  away  from 
him,  hiding  them  under  her  apron. 

"You've  just  done  something  I  can't  thank  you  for, 
and  I've  got  to  send  you  away,  .  .  .  Johanna,  our 
many  adventures  are  eccentric  ones!  .  .  .  And  now 
I'll  have  to  tell  Harmony  you're  going!" 

She  raised  her  eyes  at  last,  maternal  under  shrouding 
lids,  and  put  a  trembling  hand  on  his  own. 

"I'll  tell  her  for  you,  my  dearie." 

Amos  turned  quickly  away. 

After  a  moment  he  heard  Johanna's  voice  again  at 
the  door.  It  was  steady  and  distant  but  had  withal  a 
ground  tone  of  comfortableness. 

"I've  got  Scotch  broth,  sir,  hot  for  your  supper." 

At  the  end  of  that  week  Johanna  went,  straight  and 
calm,  looking,  in  her  best  black  dress,  very  dependable. 
She  carried  a  "telescope"  bag  and  started  in  a  taxicab, 
which  she  could  amply  afford,  on  an  indefinite  visit  to 
her  sister  in  Cedar  Rapids,  her  slope-top,  brown  leather 
trunk  riding  before  her.  At  the  door  Harmony  clung 
to  her,  and  Amos  wondered  for  one  moment  if  he  had 
done  wrong.  Should  he  have  let  her  stay  and  serve 
them  for  the  little  girl's  sake  ?  And  what  would  Chris- 
tina say  when  she  found  no  Johanna?  But  he  let  her 
go,  and  tried  to  fill  the  void  she  left  by  joking  with 
Harmony.  He  did  not  go  out  to  look  for  work  that 
afternoon. 

At  first  they  managed  the  housework  rather  well 
between  them,  Amos  thought.  He  made  Harmony 
laugh  a  good  deal  by  saying  and  doing  absurd  things 
on  purpose.  For  he  had  always  felt  bound  to  give 
Harmony  a  good  time  in  life.  Sometimes  he  made  her 
laugh  without  meaning  to,  by  flopping  pancakes  into 


The   Golden   Answer  191 

the  coal  hod,  for  instance.  But  she  cried  when  he 
burned  his  hand  with  blazing  bacon  fat.  Johanna  had 
left  a  list  of  instructions,  which  he  followed  conscien- 
tiously, but  in  spite  of  that  dust  collected  at  a  dismay- 
ing rate,  dishes  accumulated  in  the  sink;  he  never 
seemed  to  have  anything  "in  the  house"  to  fall  back  on, 
and  would  surely  discover  the  lack  of  an  essential  in- 
gredient for  a  meal  in  the  midst  of  preparing  it,  though 
he  always  seemed  to  be  buying  food.  This  state  he 
arrived  at  after  the  first  week,  when  they  had  eaten 
what  Johanna  had  prepared  for  them  before  her  de- 
parture. 

He  developed  an  interest  in  the  cook  book,  conceiv- 
ing it  to  be  a  weird  combination  of  the  delectable,  the 
bloodthirsty,  and  the  puzzling.  He  would  wander  off 
from  the  stern  case  at  hand  to  read  a  charming  old- 
fashioned  direction  for  English  chicken  pie,  such  as: 
"Add  two  sprigs  of  thyme,  one  sprig  of  sweet  mar- 
joram, a  bit  of  a  bay  leaf  and  two  sprigs  of  parsley  tied 
in  a  bag;  simmer  gently."  He  had  not  dreamed  of 
such  things  between  these  commonplace  covers.  He 
saw  the  old  English  kitchen,  the  fireplace  and  ovens, 
the  small-paned  windows,  shining  with  sunlight,  bou- 
quets of  herbs  hanging  from  blackened  rafters,  a  fat 
cook  and  a  mischievous  pot  boy,  fragrant  steam.  .  .  . 
(And  as  for  the  murderous  excesses  of  the  author's 
dreadful  plans !  To  read  was  to  sound  the  depths  of 
them:  "A  green  goose  should  never  be  more  than  four 
months  old!"  "Take  a  three  weeks'  old  pig."  Take 
him!  (This  was  headed  shamelessly  "Roast  Little 
Pig.")  "Parboil  brains  in  a  muslin  bag!"  "Wash 
one  heart  and  place  it  on  a  rack."  .  .  .  Truly,  cooks 
used  a  strange  art  and  language.  "Dredge  with  flour," 
said  the  book  about  what  should  be  an  ordinary  dish. 
Dredge  ?  And,  moreover  "Baste  with  port  wine !"  He 


192  The    Golden    Answer 

associated  basting  with  a  large  white  spool  of  thread 
in  Johanna's  work  basket,  now  departed  with  her,  and 
dredging  with  a  steam  shovel.  And  he  had  no  port 
wine.  There  was  the  saloon  at  the  end  of  the  lane — * 
But  surely  Johanna  had  never  basted  with  port  wine. 

He  called  up  Hilda  and  asked  her  advice.  She 
laughed  and  explained  a  simple  act  and  method.  Why 
should  the  writer  of  the  directions  be  so  mysterious 
about  it?  And  to  use  port  wine  for  such  a  thing  was 
seldom  done,  anyway,  Hilda  said.  The  cook  book  was 
indeed  a  strange  and  diverting  volume. 

And  now,  when  he  felt  it  almost  criminal  to  spend 
time  in  any  way  that  was  not  remunerative,  he  went  on 
with  the  book  because  he  could  not  help  it.  Exhausted 
as  he  was  after  he  came  from  a  day  of  tramping  the 
city,  or  dashing  up  and  down  in  the  subway,  and  after 
taking  hundreds  of  unnecessary  steps  in  preparing  a 
confused  meal,  he  would  find  peace  and  rest  in  pouring 
out  on  the  pages  of  "Avalon"  what  he  had  months 
planned  to  put  there  but  been  unable  to.  It  was  like 
the  opening  of  a  dam  beneath  a  swollen  river,  or  even 
more  like  the  opening  of  a  beach  he  had  once  seen  on 
a  beautiful  island  he  had  visited.  A  series  of  ponds 
and  streams  could  not  empty  into  the  sea  because  the 
high  surf  deposited  too  rapidly  a  solid  beach  of  sand 
across  their  outlet.  But  the  wise  islanders  cut  a  chan- 
nel through  the  senseless  obstructing  sand  and  let  the 
stream  go  free. 

It  was  nothing  to  Amos  that  what  he  thus  wrote 
would  probably  be  worth  little,  if  any,  money.  He 
knew  that  it  was  beautiful  and  good. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

HE  expected  Christina  back  in  September  at  the 
latest.  Her  letters  continued  to  recount  dutifully  a 
very  pleasant  life  in  Boston.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hoyle  had 
not  been  able  to  afford  to  leave  the  city  for  the  sum- 
mer, an  unheard-of  deprivation;  but  the  Danas  had 
taken  a  house  at  Marblehead  and  Christina  visited 
them  frequently.  Friends  of  Mrs.  Hoyle  had  invited 
her  and  Christina  for  two  weeks  in  Gloucester. 

But  even  a  summer  that  was  one  long  visit  cost 
money.  And  in  one  of  Christina's  letters  she  made  a 
suggestion  which  was  both  kindly,  reasonable,  and 
humiliating  to  Amos.  She  told  him  that  since  he  had 
not  "formed  any  business  connections  yet,"  she  would 
get  along  on  her  small  income  for  a  while.  He  need 
not  send  her  any  money.  She  emphasized  the  fact  that 
Mr.  Hoyle  was  in  difficulty.  Amos  knew  she  meant 
by  that  to  have  him  understand  he  could  not  borrow 
from  Uncle  Bells.  It  was  the  last  thing  he  expected 
to  do.  By  way  of  reply  he  sent  Christina  twenty-five 
dollars  and  asked  her  when  he  and  Harmony  should 
expect  her  home.  Then  he  began  to  watch  the  postman 
for  her  answer. 

One  Saturday  afternoon,  while  Amos  was  waiting 
for  the  last  mail,  Charles  Brent  called  at  the  white 
house  in  the  lane.  He  drove  in  his  car,  and  walked  up 
the  front  path  rather  heavily.  Harmony,  who  had 
just  come  in  from  a  glorious  hour  of  raking  leaves  and 
building  bonfires  with  Amos,  out  from  the  city  early 


194  The   Golden   Answer 

because  all  the  South  Sea  Houses  were  closed,  ran  to 
the  door  to  let  him  in.  She  jumped  up  and  down 
before  him  like  a  playful  puppy,  her  curls  bobbing,  her 
crimson  cheeks  and  brown  eyes  an  augury  of  the 
beauty  she  would  have  some  day.  The  sharp  air  and 
exercise  had  also  flushed  Amos  Fortune's  lean  face. 
Charles  Brent  suddenly  looked  from  him  to  Harmony 
and  back  again,  and  had  a  strange  thought.  Harmony 
threw  herself  upon  him  and  dragged  him  into  the 
library.  It  was  conceivable  that  she  was  a  very  lone- 
some little  girl  while  Amos  was  in  the  city.  Now  she 
had  them  both.  Her  eager  eyes  were  triumphant,  as 
she  asked,  "Oh,  dear  Mr.  C.  M.,  why  didn't  you  bring 
Hilda  too?" 

But  C  M.  had  come  to  talk  privately  with  Amos. 
Seeing  that,  Amos  soon  sent  Harmony  on  an  errand. 
In  her  absence  the  object  of  the  visit  came  out. 

It  was  hard  for  Charles  Brent  to  do  anything  grace- 
fully. He  realized  the  fact,  and  that  only  increased  his 
awkwardness.  But  the  knowledge  had  also  brought 
him  to  the  conclusion,  several  years  ago,  that  it  was 
best,  after  all,  to  do  and  say  things  in  his  own  way. 
Attempted  grace  suggested  the  gambols  of  better  un- 
named animals. 

So  now  he  said,  sitting  wedged  into  a  chair  too  small 
for  him — it  was  Christina's: 

"Look  here.  I'm  going  to  China.  India,  too, 
maybe.  They're  about  the  only  places  I  never  been, 
except  the  Poles.  I  know  what's  up  with  you.  Can't 
I  lend  you  some  money  before  I  go?" 

Then  he  wiped  his  face  as  if  it  were  a  hot  day. 

Amos  was  touched.  He  liked  Charles  Brent.  If  it 
came  to  the  necessity  of  borrowing  from  anybody,  for 
Harmony's  sake,  he  thought  he  could  do  it  with  less 
pain  from  him  than  from  anyone  else.  But  he  did  not 


The    Golden   Answer  195 

want  to  borrow  from  anyone !  It  made  him  hot  with 
shame  to  think  of  it.  He  had  never  borrowed,  not 
even  in  the  bad  days  just  preceding  the  South  Sea 
House.  He  had  always  won  through  somehow  himself, 
and  he  expected  to  win  through  now.  Besides,  only 
this  morning  he  received  an  encouraging  reply  to  his 
answer  to  an  advertisement.  He  had  an  appointment 
for  Monday  which  he  thought  would  bring  success  at 
last. 

So  he  refused  as  gently  as  he  could  the  kind,  blunt 
offer.  And  he  and  Charles  Brent  talked  about  India, 
and  tiger  shooting  and  the  interesting  effect  of  the  lack 
of  roads  in  China.  He  asked  after  Hilda  Martin,  and 
noticed  that  C.  M.  spoke  of  her  with  a  suddenly 
averted  eye.  It  seemed  that  he  had  not  seen  her  for 
two  weeks.  He  refused  hastily  an  invitation  for  a 
farewell  supper  party  which  should  include  Hilda,  say- 
ing that  he  thought  she  would  be  too  busy  to  come, 
and  his  own  evenings  were  all  taken.  He  was  to  leave 
in  a  week. 

As  Amos  watched  C.  M/s  broad  back  receding  down 
the  front  path — he  had  stayed  only  a  little  while  after 
Harmony's  return — he  felt  a  sudden  sinking  of  the 
heart.  A  friend  who  could  be  relied  on  was  going  a 
long  way. 

C.  M.  in  his  big  car  turned  around  and  snorted  up 
the  lane,  waving  his  hand  to  Harmony.  It  was  nearly 
dark.  Clouds  had  banked  up  and  thickened  overhead 
and  it  was  beginning  to  drizzle.  When  C.  M.  dis- 
appeared Harmony,  drooping  wistfully,  put  her  hand 
into  Amos's  as  they  stood  in  the  doorway  looking  after 
this  good  friend.  She  said  an  unchildish  thing:  "I 
wonder  when  we'll  see  him  again,  Amos." 

Amos  squeezed  her  hand,  for  he  saw  the  postman 
coming  down  the  lane. 


196  The   Golden   Answer 

"You  can  go  up  to  his  house  to-morrow,  dear,  or 
next  day,  and  take  him  something  for  his  trip.  There 
are  things  up-garret  We'll  see  what  we  can  find. 
How  would  you  like  to  take  him  a  perfectly  beautiful 
little  pistol?" 

"Oh,  my !"  cried  Harmony,  brightening.  "To  shoot 
tigers  with?" 

Amos  laughed. 

"Well,  perhaps.    It's  a  very  fine  gun." 

Then  the  postman  came  up  the  walk  and  handed 
Amos  the  letter  from  Christina. 

With  strange  foreboding  and  access  of  a  heaviness 
about  the  chest  well  known  now,  he  suggested  to  Har- 
mony that  she  make  some  biscuits  for  their  supper,  as 
Johanna  had  taught  her  to  do  when  she  left  for  Cedar 
Rapids — another  far-off  place.  And  before  reading 
the  letter  he  turned  on  the  light  in  the  yellow  and  white 
kitchen  and  shook  up  the  fire,  getting  the  fattest  yellow 
bowl  down  from  the  top  shelf.  He  patted  Harmony's 
head  and  left  her  sifting  flour  happily. 

Carrying  Christina's  letter  up  to  their  room  he  read 
it  there. 

With  the  first  line  he  understood;  and  knew  that 
Christina  did  not  understand.  He  knew  her  better 
than  she  knew  herself.  Christina  could  do  a  momen- 
tous, decisive  thing  because,  at  the  time,  it  was  con- 
venient. The  division  of  a  path  was  not  for  her 
marked  with  sign  post,  or  milestone. 

"You  don't  seem  to  have  found  anything  to  do  yet," 
wrote  Christina.  "I  can't  help  wondering  a  little  if  you 
have  looked  very  hard.  I  have  been  thinking  things 
over,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  it  would  be  awkward  if 
I  came  back  now.  Expenses  would  be  higher  if  I 
were  there.  We  ought  to  entertain,  at  least  have  a  few 
people,  and  you  wouldn't  feel  we  could.  It  would  look 


The   Golden   Answer  197 

very  queer  not  to.  I  have  told  you  that  I  would  use 
my  own  little  income  for  myself  for  a  while.  And  it 
will  go  much  further  if  I  stay  here,  and  use  it  for 
clothes  and  extras.  I'll  be  cheaper  here  than  there, 
Amos.  So  let's  be  sensible.  I  think  it  would  be  most 
indiscreet  for  me  to  come  back  now." 

After  reading  the  letter  the  first  time,  he  thought  of 
two  inconsequent  things:  He  wondered  whether  she 
had  received  the  check  for  twenty-five  dollars.  Had  he 
forgotten  to  enclose  it?  And  it  occurred  to  him  that 
his  friends  and  family  were  seeking  a  strange  variety 
of  distant  places.  Cedar  Rapids,  China,  and  Boston. 
Boston  seemed  the  farthest  away. 

After  reading  the  letter  a  second  time  he  decided 
that  it  was  an  extraordinary  one;  that  it  was  a  letter 
entirely  in  character ;  that  he  had  known  from  the  first 
that  Christina  had  such  a  letter  in  her.  He  had  fallen 
in  love  with  her  knowing  it.  And  he  wondered,  with 
a  sick  astonishment,  how  he  had  happened  to  do  so. 
In  very  truth  he  had  put  on  bells  and  motley.  But -the 
thing  that  caused  him  the  greatest  pain  was  not  that  he 
had  fallen  in  love  with  Christina,  but  that  he  loved  her 
still,  without  knowing  why. 

He  lay  down  on  the  bed  and  hid  his  face  in  her 
pillow.  All  her  good  and  gentle  moods  came  to  taunt 
him.  "When  I  did  this  and  that  I  had  the  letter  in 
me,"  they  said.  "When  I  let  you  kiss  me  first  by  the 
locked  gate,  I  was  even  then  small  and  selfish,"  whis- 
pered the  most  exquisite.  "When  I  gave  myself  to  you 
in  the  mountains,  I  was  a  deserter  and  a  coward,"  de- 
clared the  most  beautiful  of  them  all. 

But  it  is  unjust,  he  argued,  to  sum  up  a  soul,  finally, 
for  its  unworthiness.  A  man  who  has  committed  one 
illegal  act  is  forever  and  entirely  dishonest;  one  deed 
of  cowardice  makes  the  coward.  One  drop  of  black 


198  The    Golden   Answer 

blood  creates  the  outcast;  a  million  drops  of  white 
blood  will  not  make  white  him  so  tainted !  Christina, 
in  her  loveliness,  was  as  much  the  potentially  lovely  as 
in  her  loveliness  she  was  potentially  ugly.  And  whatever 
she  was  she  was  his.  He  wanted  her,  in  all  her  match- 
less imperfection. 

But  she  had  decreed  that  he  could  not  have  her. 

After  a  long  time  with  a  wrenching  of  the  spirit,  he 
got  up  in  the  dark  room  and  went  slowly  downstairs. 

He  found  Harmony  excited  and  happy.  She  had 
cooked  the  supper  all  herself.  As  he  stood  in  the  door- 
way looking  at  her  she  made  another  of  her  incredible 
speeches. 

"Amos,"  she  said,  "do  you  s'pose  if  you  had  chosen 
Hilda  to  bring  home  to  live  with  us  that  she  would 
have  gone  away  ?" 

The  appointment  on  Monday  did  not  bring  success. 
Amos  felt  sure  that  this  was  again  Chance  taking  a 
hand  in  his  fortunes.  The  position  was  a  good  one, 
and  his  letter  had,  with  a  few  others,  been  selected 
from  hundreds.  But  the  man  who  had  the  appoint- 
ment fifteen  minutes  ahead  of  Amos  got  the  place. 
This  failure,  coupled  with  another  event,  brought  him 
to  a  decision  long  pending  in  his  mind.  His  rent  was 
raised,  the  increase  to  begin  the  first  of  October.  He 
could  not  pay  the  advanced  rate ;  in  fact,  he  could  no 
longer  pay  the  old  rate.  The  decision  he  made  was 
that,  since  Christina  was  not  returning — just  yet — he 
and  Harmony  must  leave  the  white  house  in  the  lane, 
which  was  the  only  home  Harmony  remembered.  It 
would  be  a  hard  thing  to  do,  but  the  necessity  was  im- 
perative. And  there  would  be  advantages :  The  work 
he  was  seeking,  and  must  eventually  find,  would  be  in 
New  York.  It  was  costing  a  good  deal  to  go  back  and 


The   Golden   Answer  199 

forth  on  the  train  each  day.  He  thought  that  if  he  and 
Harmony  could  take  two  or  three  rooms  in  a  cheap 
neighborhood,  furnish  them  simply  from  the  house,  and 
store  the  other  furniture,  he  could  make  his  money — 
now  alarmingly  diminished — go  further. 

He  acted  quickly  on  this  decision.  Haste,  too,  was 
a  matter  of  necessity.  But  he  was  wise  enough  not  to 
refuse  to  sign  his  lease  until  he  had  found  another 
place  to  live.  In  the  middle  of  the  night,  as  he  was 
lying  awake,  a  scene  floated  to  him  out  of  the  memory 
of  that  first  incomparable  year  of  his  marriage.  He 
and  Christina  were  walking  through  the  marsh  woods, 
Christina  in  gray  and  gold  with  a  dash  of  scarlet — 
what  was  it,  like  the  red  wing  of  a  bird?  The  ver- 
milion maple  leaf.  .  .  .  And  they  had  met  Truebee 
Lark  coming  down  the  path,  birdlike  and  queer.  He 
had  remarked  one  or  two  strange  things,  now  forgot- 
ten. Amos  remembered  that  he  was  said  to  be  getting 
queerer  lately.  What  was  it,  at  the  end,  about  a  house  ? 
His  sister  Zinnia  was  renting  the  top  floor  of  her  mis- 
erable city  house  by  the  river!  Miserable,  because 
Truebee  despised  all  city  houses,  as  his  sister  despised 
the  country.  That  was  a  year  ago.  But  Zinnia's 
rooms  might  now  be  vacant  again,  for  it  was  the 
season  of  annual  migration.  Amos  fell  asleep  com- 
forted by  the  thought  that  he  would  speak  to  Mr.  Lark 
in  the  morning. 

The  change,  like  other  momentous  things,  was  ac- 
complished with  astonishing  ease  and  quickness.  Zin- 
nia's rooms  were  vacant,  the  price  was  low;  she  was 
glad  to  have  Amos  and  Harmony  on  her  brother  True- 
bee's  recommendation.  Amos  sold  some  of  his  furni- 
ture and  stored  all  but  a  few  pieces  of  the  rest.  (He 
asked  Hilda  Martin  to  keep  the  secretary  and  Chris- 
tina's little  mahogany  rocking  chair.)  He  did  not 


2OO  The    Golden   Answer 

write  Christina  of  the  change.  And  on  the  first  of 
October  he  and  Harmony  went  to  the  city  to  live. 

Zinnia  Lark's  house  was  in  Jane  Street,  a  by-way  of 
which  Amos  Fortune  had  never  even  heard.  But  he 
found  that  it  lay  over  near  the  North  River  and  the 
wide  thoroughfare  of  the  piers.  Zinnia's  was  the  last 
one  of  a  row  of  shabby  little  three-story  red  brick 
houses,  facing  south  and  receiving  a  blaze  of  sunlight 
all  day,  which  went  a  long  way  to  redeem  them  from 
an  aspect  of  dilapidation.  Indeed,  the  row  was  neat, 
painted  to  mellowness,  and  would  not  have  disgraced  a 
"remodeled  block"  in  a  more  popular,  picturesque 
neighborhood.  Number  thirteen,  a  bit  fatter  than  the 
rest,  and  wearing  a  perky  air  of  homelikeness,  was  next 
door  to  a  warehouse  and  two  doors  from  a  garage ;  its 
basement  had  been  turned  into  a  shop.  A  block  west  of 
it,  hiding  the  wide  river,  rose  the  front  of  the  piers  of 
the  Southern  Pacific  Steamship  Company.  And  above 
the  great  f agade  towered  masts  and  funnels.  In  Zin- 
nia's house  you  could  tell  time  by  ships'  bells. 

"Is  this  home?"  asked  Harmony,  as  they  mounted 
the  steps  and  rang  the  doorbell.  She  was  looking  large- 
eyed,  startled  from  her  first  journey  on  the  elevated, 
but  interested  and  adventurous.  Amos  knew,  with  an 
amused  certainty,  that  he  could  trust  her  to  be  that. 

"Why,  yes,"  he  said,  "it  is!  Those  are  our  rooms 
up  there  on  top ;  you  see  the  sunlight  pouring  in?  And 
there's  a  fireplace.  I  don't  wish  to  be  sentimentally 
cheerful,  my  dear,  but,  really,  a  southern  exposure,  a 
fireplace  (with  wood  to  burn  in  it,  which  we'll  see 
about),  a  bottle  of  ink  and  you  having  me  and  I  having 
you — -don't  you  think  that  makes  rather  a  nice  home  ?" 

She  squeezed  his  hand  and  laughed. 

"Of  course!  Look,  Amos,  the  house  is  winking  one 
eye  at  us." 


The   Golden   Answer  201 

As  they  gazed  upward  at  the  windows  of  the  second 
story,  where  one  drawn  curtain  gave  the  house  a 
rollicking  air,  the  shade  was  popped  up  so  quickly  that 
they  jumped.  Miss  Zinnia  Lark's  face  appeared  at  the 
window.  She  waved  a  very  white  hand  at  them  and 
nodded  her  white  head  several  times  more  than  seemed 
necessary.  Perhaps  that  was  to  reassure  them  about 
getting  in,  for  it  was  a  long  time  before  she  reached 
the  door.  When  she  did  fling  it  wide  she  was  out  of 
breath. 

"A  welcome  to  Brother  Truebee's  neighbors!"  she 
said.  And  one  could  see  that  as  a  resident  of  the  city 
she  greeted  country  folk.  She  gave  them  her  hand  in 
turn  in  a  both  timid  and  stately  way,  and  led  them  into 
her  parlor. 

Miss  Zinnia  Lark  was  the  whitest  lady  they  had 
ever  seen.  She  was  a  little  slender  thing  with  curly 
white  hair,  a  pale  blue-veined  face  and  small,  white, 
blue-veined  hands.  She  wore  over  her  shoulders,  this 
fall  afternoon,  a  white  camel's-hair  shawl,  and  a  large 
white  muslin  apron  covered  the  front  of  her  light 
gown.  She  leaned  on  a  stick  with  a  carved  white  ivory 
top.  Like  Truebee  she  had  sparkling  black  eyes,  and 
quick  motions.  Unlike  him  she  had  a  bad  limp  in  her 
walk,  so  that,  despite  an  agile  manner,  she  did  not  make 
rapid  progress  at  all. 

"Sit  down,"  she  said,  flourishing  the  beautiful  ivory- 
headed  stick  first  at  Amos  and  then  at  Harmony.  "I'll 
get  my  breath  in  a  minute.  You're  a  nice  little  girl, 
though  your  dress  is  too  short.  Sit  down ;  I  like  your 
name,  Amos  Fortune.  I  might  as  well  ask  you  now — 
can  you  tell  time  without  a  clock  ?" 

Amos  put  her  into  a  chair,  rather  against  her  will. 

"If  the  sun  is  out  I  can  make  a  good  guess." 


2O2  The   Golden   Answer 

"Because  there  isn't  a  clock  in  this  house,"  she  con- 
tinued, "and  if  you've  brought  one  you  can't  stay !  I 
have  a  more  beautiful  way  of  counting  the  hours,  the 
few  that  are  left  to  me." 

She  slipped  out  of  her  chair  again  and  limped  to  the 
window.  Opening  it,  she  held  up  her  white  hand  to 
them  in  a  listening  attitude.  With  the  yellow  sunlight 
the  balmy  autumn  air  floated  in,  and  a  medley  of 
sounds  from  the  waterfront.  A  look  of  soft  pleasure 
lighted  her  charming  face.  Then,  calm  and  clear  from 
the  river,  came  two  rapid,  musical  strokes  of  a  bell, 
repeated.  A  moment  later — Miss  Lark's  hand  was  still 
uplifted — in  a  lower  key  the  four  notes,  in  two  swift 
pairs,  rang  again,  and,  faint  in  the  distance,  a  bit 
higher  this  time,  four  more.  Ding-ding;  ding-ding. 
Dong-dong;  dong-dong.  Ding-ding;  ding-ding. 

Instantly  one  felt  in  how  many  happy — or  unhappy 
— far-off  waters  those  bells  had  thus  with  sweet  non- 
chalance rung  the  watches. 

"Four  bells,"  murmured  Miss  Zinnia,  with  a  light 
sigh  of  satisfaction.  "Six  o'clock  in  the  dog  watches." 

"Shall  I  add  'all's  well'  ?"  smiled  Amos,  closing  the 
window  for  her. 

"I  hope  you're  not  a  noble  young  man,"  she  re- 
marked, looking  at  him  sharply.  "If  you  are  the  rent 
will  be  a  dollar  more.  I  took  you  because  your  name  is 

Fortune.  If  you  should  turn  out  to  be  aimiable ! 

Here,  little  girl,  run  upstairs  and  show  your  papa  his 
rooms." 

So  it  happened  that  Amos  and  Harmony  climbed 
the  two  narrow  stairways  alone  and  found  the  three 
rooms  in  which  several  strange  things  were  to  happen 
to  them.  The  scant  furniture  was  huddled  in  the 
middle  of  the  bare  floor.  Harmony  saw  her  cricket, 


The   Golden   Answer  203 

flew  to  it  and  sat  down.    She  laughed  and  beckoned  to 
Amos. 

"Don't  you  love  this  funny  house?    Oh,  Amos,  7 
know  why  it  winked  at  MJ," 


CHAPTER  XXII 

WHILE  Amos  and  Harmony  were  settling  their 
rooms  in  Jane  Street,  Christina  was  really  not  having  a 
very  gay  time  in  Boston.  In  the  first  place,  she  did  not 
have  much  money  and  she  had  put  herself  in  a  place 
where  merely  to  "get  along"  took  all  that  she  had,  and 
demanded  more.  She  could  not  philosophize  about 
standards  of  living;  she  merely  knew  that  what  might 
have  sufficed  almost  to  support  a  girl  like  Hilda  Mar- 
tin, for  example,  and,  when  she  was  at  home  with 
Amos,  was  for  herself  more  than  ample  pocket  money, 
here,  with  her  aunt's  friends,  all  richer  than  the  Hoyles, 
had  shrunken  again  to  the  meager  proportions  it  had 
seemed  to  have  before  her  marriage.  Then,  however, 
there  had  been  frequent  gifts  from  her  aunt.  Now  she 
could  not  accept  gifts  of  money.  This  fact  surprised 
her.  She  did  not  analyze  it.  She  merely  felt  that  she 
could  not  let  anyone  but  Amos  give  her  money  now. 
Since  the  Hoyles  were  somewhat  in  straits  also,  the 
offer  was  not  pressed  upon  her. 

And  something  else  concerning  her  money  began 
vaguely  to  stir  in  her  mind  and  disturb  her. 

One  afternoon  Benton  Hoyle  was  surprised  to  have 
his  aunt's  niece  come  to  him  with  an  unusual  curiosity 
concerning  the  details  of  finance  which  she  never  be- 
fore had  shown.  He  was  embarrassed,  first  because 
she  came  upon  him  in  his  carpenter's  shop,  a  place 
where  he  did  not  like  to  be  followed.  It  was  several 
years  since  he  had  spent  much  time  there,  but  he  had 
gone  so  far  as  to  have  a  room  in  the  fourth  story  of 

204 


The   Golden   Answer  205 

the  old-time  high-shouldered  Boston  house  set  apart 
as  a  place  for  his  "tools,"  as  Mrs.  Hoyle  called  all  his 
equipment,  indiscriminately.  And  on  this  rainy  after- 
noon he  had,  breathlessly,  ascended  to  it.  Christina 
found  him  puttering  over  the  model  of  the  wing  of  a 
"flying  machine."  He  always  used  that  old-fashioned 
term,  and  he  knew  little  of  modern  models.  Labori- 
ously, more  than  once,  he  had  worked  out  independ- 
ently a  crude  idea  that  long  since,  unknown  to  him,  had 
been  perfected. 

Christina,  looking  around  the  dull,  cluttered,  dusty 
room,  smiled  strangely,  but  made  no  comment.  If  she 
was  reminded  of  Amos  Fortune's  remark  about  a 
man's  hobby  she  gave  no  sign.  But  she  suddenly  had 
a  more  kindly  feeling  than  usual  toward  her  uncle. 
She  did  not,  in  truth,  know  that  this  warm  kindliness 
was  due  to  the  sudden  twinge  of  pity  at  the  remem- 
brance of  the  story  of  Amos's  brother,  who  made  the 
little  airplane  that  flew  once  across  a  green  meadow, 
and  then  broke. 

"Uncle  Benton,"  she  began,  somewhat  timidly,  for 
Christina  disliked  to  show  ignorance,  "is  there  any  way 
of  rinding  out  who  bought  stock  that  was  sold  some 
time  ago?" 

"Hey?  I  don't  understand.  What  stock?  How 
long  ago  ?  What' re  you  getting  at  ?  Don't  beat  about 
the  bush!" 

(In  a  quick  parenthesis  Christina  thought:  Beat 
about  the  bush.  I  wonder  how  that  figure  came  about. 
Has  he  used  it  in  its  real  sense  ?  It  would  be  interest- 
ing to  find  out.  Amos ) 

"Well?" 

Mr.  Hoyle  was  looking  at  her  sharply  over  the  flying 
machine's  left  wing. 

"I — I  wish ;  that  is,  I  think  Ed  rather  like  to  know 


2o6  The   Golden   Answer 

who  bought  the  stock  in  the  Atlantic  Seaboard  Realty 
that  you  sold  for  me,  just  before — just  before  the 
break." 

"What  for?" 

"Is  there  any  way  of  knowing?"  counter-questioned 
Christina. 

After  a  pause  during  which  their  eyes  held,  Mr. 
Hoyle  said  slowly: 

"The  brokers  have  canceled  checks,  and  files  of 
correspondence.  No  doubt  it  might  be  traced  a  little 
way.  What's  the  matter?" 

"I  haven't  said  that  anything  was  the  matter.  .  .  . 
Traced  ?  You  mean,  it  might  involve  a — a  good  many 
people?" 

"Yes.    Changed  hands  quickly — toward  the  end." 

"I  see.    Several — people." 

She  strolled  over  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  The 
rain  came  down  in  evenly  slanting  lines  into  the  sodden 
city  garden.  This  was  a  very  depressing  day. 

"I  suppose,"  she  remarked,  with  her  back  to  Mr. 
Hoyle,  "that  the  last  person  who  held  it — my  stock — 
lost  all  he  put  in,  and  all  along  the  line  each  one  lost  a 
little,  for  it  was  steadily  going  down.  It  seems  quite — 
personal." 

"Humph!"  said  Mr.  Hoyle. 

A  chime  on  a  tower,  not  far  away,  sounded  dully 
through  the  thick  air.  It  was  really  a  most  harmonious 
and  piquant  chime,  but  it  contrived  to-day  to  seem 
pathetic.  Christina  felt  irritated  with  the  chime. 

"Uncle  Benton,"  she  said  suddenly,  with  her  back 
still  toward  him,  "did  you  know — when  you  sold,  that 
is,  had  you  'inside  information,'  that  the  company — 
would  break?" 

There  was  stillness  behind  her,  broken  only  by  the 
eaves'  dripping.  Somehow  Christina  felt  there  was  a 


The   Golden   Answer  207 

'brittle  quality  about  that  silence.  When  she  could  no 
.longer  endure  it  she  quickly  turned  around. 

Benton  Hoyle  held  the  wing  of  his  flying  machine 
poised  in  the  position  it  had  been  in  when  she  put  her 
question.  As  she  turned  he  dropped  it,  with  a  little 
sound  of  delicate  wood  breaking.  He  did  not  stoop  to 
pick  up  the  broken  wing. 

"There!"  he  said,  in  a  querulous  tone  for  the  first 
time  old,  and  with  unaccustomed  profanity.  "Now 
you've  made  me  break  it !  Damn  it,  Christina,  you've 
made  me  break  it.  The  cursed  thing  never  will  go 
now.  What  in  hell  did  you  come  up  here  bothering  me 
for?  I  don't  want  anybody  in  this  room.  .  .  ." 

While  he  was  still  talking  Christina  slipped  out, 

She  went  into  the  library  and  decided  to  read,  since 
it  was  not  likely  that  anyone  would  call  this  rainy 
afternoon  or  call  her  up  to  suggest  a  more  diverting 
occupation.  But  she  found  herself  looking  beyond  her 
book  and  picturing  to  herself  an  eccentric  search  for 
canceled  checks.  Even  if  the  search  were  rewarded, 
could  she  ever  explain  to  people  that  they  must  take 
this  money  she  was  offering  them  because  her  husband 
was  an  unusual  sort  of  man  who  said  things  so  vividly 
you  could  never  forget  them,  and  she  hoped  the  music 
teacher  wouldn't  be  sick,  and 

But  those  weren't  real  people !  How  absurd !  Amos 
did  make  his  stories  seem  so  real.  Probably  the  real 
people  were  fat  packers.  She  had  a  very  vague  idea 
of  what  a  "packer"  might  be,  but  she  had  heard  the 
term.  Undoubtedly  they  didn't  need  money  as  much 
as  she  did.  Come  to  think  of  it,  she  didn't  have  any 
money,  anyhow,  to  send  her  if  the  piano  wasn't  paid 
for.  There  she  went  again! 

She  threw  aside  her  book  because  the  story  was  not 
easy  to  follow ;  one  of  those  up  from  the  cradle  kind 


2o8  The    Golden   Answer 

it  was,  that  began  by  describing  the  costumes  of  the 
hero's  grandparents.  And  she  pulled  out  from  a  lower 
shelf  a  year-before-last  bound  volume  of  The  Atlantic 
Monthly.  Opening  it  she  saw  first  with  a  start: 

"Prismatic  Banking  Papers 

By  Jeremy  Pride. 

If 

With  her  mouth  curving  in  a  little  lovely  smile  she 
began  to  read. 

An  hour  later,  when  the  telephone  bell  rang  near  her 
elbow,  she  was  saying  to  herself: 

"I  never  knew  much  about  the  inside  of  people's 
heads  before.  I  wonder  if  they  really  all  do  have  such 
interesting  things  hidden  away.  I  wonder  how  Amos 
knows —  Does  he  know  what  I  think?" 

She  answered  the  telephone. 

"Yes,  Philip,  it's  Christina.  .  .  .  Just  reading.  .  .  . 
Rather  blue.  .  .  .  An  awful  overdose  of  my  own 
society.  .  .  .  Yes,  do,  come.  I  think  I  must  be  getting 
queer,  due  to  solitary  confinement  on  a  rainy  day.  Yes 
— I'm  all  alone  for  an  hour  or  two.  I'll  be  very  glad  to 
see  you,  Philip !" 

The  god  of  circumstance  was  on  duty  that  rainy  day. 
For  Philip  Dana  came,  in  his  most  lyrically  cheerful 
mood,  declared  she  needed  waking  up,  took  her  out 
to  dinner  (Edith  had  a  headache  and  hoped  they  would 
go)  and  to  a  new  musical  comedy.  Christina  reacted 
quickly,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  she  thought 
again  of  worthless  stock  or  how  much  Amos  knew 
about  other  people's  hearts. 

Certainly  she  was  not  thinking  of  such  matters  one 
afternoon  when  she  and  Philip  Dana  walked  together 
along  the  Charles  River  in  Cambridge.  It  was  late  and 


The   Golden   Answer  209 

a  blue  mistiness  hung  the  water  with  a  lovely  veil. 
Several  hardy  crews  were  still  out,  their  weird  craft 
shooting  over  the  water  with  incredible  speed.  In  their 
wake  lazy  swans,  immodestly  lacking  in  timidity, 
cruised  about,  vain  and  graceful  ghosts,  arching  their 
necks  and  preening  in  the  twilight. 

It  came  to  Christina,  with  a  deep  surprise,  that  she 
was  happy  with  Philip  Dana,  or  perhaps  content  was 
the  word.  It  was  a  wholly  different  happiness  from 
that  which  she  had  felt  with  Amos.  Dana  never  puz- 
zled her.  He  was  her  own  sort.  She  sank  back,  when 
she  was  with  him,  into  an  easy-going  state  that  was 
welcome  and  comfortable.  She  did  not  wish  to  meet 
the  issue  of  their  renewed  intimacy.  And  with  him  it 
was  not  necessary  to  meet  it,  or  any  issue.  It  was  not 
necessary  to  be  definite  and  clear  about  things.  What 
was  the  use  of  getting  "all  wrought  up"  ? 

When  she  was  with  Amos  she  felt  that  she  had  to 
strain  to  keep  up  to  something  she  only  half  visualized. 
Once  in  a  while  she  saw  that  it  was  beautiful,  but  also 
hard.  She  always,  with  Amos,  seemed  to  be  exercising 
spiritual  and  mental  muscles,  and  she  grew  tired. 

The  park-like  river  front  was  deserted.  Suddenly 
Dana  stopped  in  the  shadow  of  the  shrubbery  and 
kissed  her.  And  she  laughed,  pushing  him  away,  deli- 
cately. 

"You  don't  mean  it,  Philip.    So  why  do  you  do  it  ?" 

"Mean  it !  Give  me  a  chance  to  show  how  much  I 
mean." 

"You  had  your  chance." 

"My  God,  Christina!    Can't  you  forget  that?" 

"I  wonder  if  I  could.    Perhaps,  some  day— 

"Now!" 

"No,  let's  talk  about  something  else.  Let's  talk 
about  the  swans.  I  don't  want  to  be  bothered  with 


2io  The    Golden   Answer 

anything.  I  want  to  be  just  comfortable.  If  I  begin 
to  think,  Philip,  I  think  too  hard.  And  then — I  do 
queer  things." 

"I  wonder,"  said  Dana,  "if  you  know  how  much 
you've  changed." 

But  Christina  only  laughed  again. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

^  ON  a  night  when  Hilda  was  working  overtime  at  the 
South  Sea  House  she  had  an  adventure.  One  might 
call  it  that. 

Amos  Fortune's  hint  about  a  possible  increase  in 
salary  had  kindled  her  imagination  and  reawakened 
her  ambition.  If  she  could  get  a  five-dollar-a-week 
advance  perhaps  she  could  send  her  mother  South  for 
a  month — a  little  journey  that  Mrs.  Martin  badly 
needed.  Hence  the  overtime  work,  and  Joseph  Carl- 
ton's  nod  of  approval.  She  was  grateful  to  Amos  for 
thus  giving  her  new  energizing.  She  was  grateful  to 
him  for  many  things,  although  they  might  have  made  a 
queer  list.  Smiling  over  her  ledger  she  wished  that 
she  might  show  her  gratitude;  she  wished  she  might 
do  something  for  him — scrub  floors,  perhaps. 

There  was  a  woman  in  the  outer  office  scrubbing 
floors  for  someone — Hilda  wondered  for  whom.  She 
was  there  every  night;  but  Hilda,  on  other  ambitious 
evenings,  had  seen  her  only  at  a  distance.  To-night 
she  had  come  face  to  face  with  her,  and  had  noticed 
her  with  a  throb  of  interest.  Another  prismatic  bank- 
tic  banking  paper  here,  no  doubt !  They  would  not  all 
come  back  from  blind  editors.  She  wondered  if  Amos 
had  sent  the  last  one  out  again. 

The  other  night  worker,  who  had  stood  aside  to 
allow  Hilda  to  pass  on  the  damp  floor  that  smelled  of 
soap,  was  a  tall,  dark,  common-looking  woman  with 
tragic  eyes — once  beautiful.  Suddenly  Hilda  was  sure 
that  she  had  seen  her  before.  But  where  ?  Then  she 

211 


212  The    Golden   Answer 

remembered  in  a  flash  that  the  scrubwoman  was  also  a 
waitress  in  a  cheap  downtown  restaurant.  Therefore, 
she  must  be  working  night  and  day.  That  was  hard. 
In  passing,  Hilda  smiled  at  her.  The  woman  did  not 
return  the  smile,  but  scowled,  looked  down  quickly,  and 
scrubbed  a  little  faster. 

There  were  two  men  and  a  girl  also  working  late 
to-night.  The  "girl"  was  the  woman  over  sixty  whom 
Joseph  Carlton  had  suspected  of  lying  about  her  age 
and  was  watching  for  a  chance  to  discharge.  Amos 
had  confided  to  Hilda  the  precariousness  of  Miss 
Blinn's  position,  and  Hilda  had  urged  the  woman 
several  times  to  stay  late  with  her  to  keep  her  company, 
straightening  out  a  mistake  or  two,  trying  not  to  look 
at  the  aging  hands,  and  taking  Miss  Blinn  out  on  her 
way  home  for  a  hot  stew  at  a  little  oyster  house  around 
the  corner.  The  two  young  men  also  in  the  cage,  were 
so  much  alike  that  they  might  have  been  twins — the 
sloping-shouldered,  undernourished  clerk  who  wants  to 
be  thought  a  devil  of  a  fellow.  Hilda  hated  these 
young  men.  One  of  them  had  Amos  Fortune's  desk 
(though  not  his  work — it  took  three  of  them  to  do 
that).  She  especially  hated  the  incumbent  of  that 
desk. 

Hilda,  working  rapidly  in  the  hope  of  finishing  in 
time  to  catch  the  9.46,  forgot  the  odious  young  men 
and  Miss  Blinn,  who  had  a  cold,  exuded  the  smell 
of  peppermint,  sniffed,  and  was  not  easily  forgotten. 
She  even  forgot  the  dark-eyed,  black-haired  scrub- 
woman, whose  smudged  beauty  was  of  a  haunting 
kind.  But  at  about  half  past  eight  she  went  to  get  a 
drink  of  water,  and  remembered  her!  There  by  the 
tank  of  ice  water  the  woman  was  scrubbing  with  a  sort 
of  angry  violence,  and  the  tears  were  dropping  into  the 
dirty  suds. 


The   Golden   Answer  213 

Hilda  stopped  short,  and  her  heart  beat  unreason- 
ably, considering  that  this  was  nobody  to  her.  The 
woman  looked  up  with  a  defiant  glance.  And  Hilda, 
longing  to  help,  could  only  say  that  there  was  a  nice 
moon  outside ;  and  go  back  into  her  office !  Her  chest 
ached;  she  hated  to  see  a  woman  cry,  for  she  some- 
times cried  herself. 

By  nine  o'clock  Hilda  was  finishing  her  work.  She 
had  found  a  mistake  in  Miss  Blinn's  accounts  and  sent 
her  home,  relieved  and  happy,  still  sniffing  and  with  a 
peppermint  in  her  cheek.  The  two  young  men,  with 
yawns,  were  preparing  to  go,  and  Hilda,  also,  closed 
her  books  and  slipped  into  her  coat.  She  could  see  that 
they  were  keeping  the  scrubwoman  out  of  that  office ; 
she  had  set  her  pails  inside  and  was  working  around 
the  door. 

The  young  man  who  had  Amos's  desk  stretched  his 
skinny  arms  and  drew  on  his  bright  tan  gloves.  He 
felt  important,  heaven  knows  over  what.  He  put  his 
hat  on  and  looked  at  Hilda,  chewing  gum  slowly. 

"Say/'  remarked  this  Mr.  Daniel  Flynn,  with  as- 
surance, "I  hear  old  Amos  Fortune  went  broke  with 
that  Atlantic  Seaboard  Realty  Company.  What'ye 
know  about  that?" 

Hilda,  tempted  not  to  answer  at  all,  replied  stiffly, 
"I  know  it's  so." 

"Serves  him  right  for  not  stickin'  to  a  safe  job. 
Now  look  at  him !  Down  and  out  and  a  kid  to  bring 
up,  too,  ain't  he?" 

"Yes." 

"Believe  me,  no  kids  in  mine !  And  little  Daniel  is 
all  for  the  thin  but  regular  pay  envelope.  Atlantic 
Seaboard — hell !  Nightie-night,  Miss  Martin." 

Hilda  soberly  put  on  her  hat  without  a  mirror,  drew 
on  her  gloves,  and  made  her  way  through  the  darkened, 


214  The    Golden   Answer 

night-smelling  bank  to  the  outer  door,  where  the  watch- 
man was  hovering.  She  never  felt  afraid  to  stay  here 
late  because  Michael,  the  night  watchman,  was  a  good 
friend  of  hers ;  he  had  her  on  his  mind.  Now  he  said: 

"Ye'll  get  tired  to  death,  Miss  Martin,  workin'  late 
so  much.  No  time  and  a  half  for  overtime  in  the  office 
either,  hey?  Headwork  is  bad — bad!" 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right,  Michael.     Good  night." 

"Well,  look-a  here,  where's  yer  pocketbook  't  al- 
ways hangs  on  yer  arm?  Forgot  it,  hey?  Who  says 
ye  ain't  tired?" 

"Oh,  dear — well,  I  shouldn't  have  gone  far  without 
it,  should  I?  Thanks,  Michael." 

She  quickly  went  back  into  the  little  room  that  was 
partitioned  off  by  iron  bars,  like  a  cage.  The  lights 
were  still  burning  there,  and  as  she  stepped  to  her 
desk  and  opened  her  drawer,  Hilda  thought  she  was 
alone  in  the  office.  She  started  to  snap  off  the  electric 
lamps,  thinking  that,  after  all,  she  had  interfered  with 
its  being  cleaned  by  working  late,  when  a  slight  sound 
startled  her  heart 

Wheeling  around,  she  saw  the  scrubwoman  sitting 
on  the  damp  floor  with  her  head  in  her  arms. 

Hilda  felt  herself  choked  with  pity,  the  very  strength 
of  which  was  an  inhibition.  And  as  she  stood  silent, 
wondering  what  to  do,  the  woman  lifted  her  head.  A 
lock  of  black  hair  fell  across  her  eyes.  She  pushed  it 
back  and  rose  to  her  knees.  The  front  of  her  old  red 
dress  was  damp  with  scrub  water. 

"I  want  to  ask,  miss," — her  voice  had  a  resonant 
huskiness,  and  there  was  an  inscrutable  dark  flash  of 
her  eyes — "do  you  know  Amos  Fortune?" 

Hilda  began  to  tremble,  so  that  she  put  one  hand 
back  of  her,  grasping  the  high  desk. 

"Yes!" 


The   Golden   Answer  215 

The  woman  wiped  her  cheek — upon  which  there 
were  tears — with  the  back  of  her  damp  red  hand  before 
she  spoke  again: 

"I'm  glad!" 

"Why?"  asked  Hilda,  dry-voiced. 

"Maybe  then  you  know  where  he  is?" 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"Well,  think  of  that !"  The  woman  gave  a  long  sigh 
of  relief.  But  again  her  eyes  clouded  over.  She  set- 
tled back  on  her  heels,  still  in  the  kneeling  position, 
her  marred  hands  fumbling  with  her  dress,  smoothing 
down  the  damp  skirt.  Suddenly  the  hands  began  to 
tremble. 

"My  name's  Kit  Farley;  once— 'Kitty' !"  She  of- 
fered abruptly  with  an  unhumorous  laugh. 

Hilda  waited. 

"I  knew  him  'way  back,  eight,  nine  years  ago.  .  .  . 
I  heard  that  young  fellah  talkin'  .  .  .  about  him  bein' 
broke.  It — just  upset  me.  You  can  see  it  would — you 
know  him.  You're  his  friend,  ain't  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

"How  close?" 

"Not  very." 

"Oh  .  .  .  Well,  do  you  think  he's— bad  this  time?" 

Hilda  met  the  penetrating  eyes. 

"He's  in  trouble,  but  he'll  win  out  of  it.  He's  that 
kind." 

"I'd  like  to  be  near,"  said  the  strange  woman.  She 
was  unmistakably  concealing  something,  some  living, 
flaming  interest.  "I'd  like  to  be  near,  if  he's  in  trouble. 
He — they — ain't  at  the  old  address.  The  house  is 
empty." 

"Why  do  you  want  to  be  near?" 

Kit  Farley  dropped  her  eyes  and  her  terrible  hands 
began  confused  motions. 


216  The    Golden   Answer 

"Oh,  of  course  I  couldn't  do  anything."  Then  her 
humbleness  left  her.  Her  eyes  flashed  again.  "I  don't 
know's  I  have  any  call  to  tell  you  why.  You  say  you 
ain't  close  to  him." 

"But  I'd  like  to  help  him — and  Harmony,"  Hilda 
braved.  "Is  that  what  you  want  to  do  ?" 

"It  is." 

Kit  Farley  quickly  covered  her  mouth — which  was 
beautiful — with  her  hand. 

"Then — they  live  at — at  number  thirteen  Jane 
Street,  on  the  top  floor,"  said  Hilda. 

"Down  to  that!" 

"It's  quite  a— nice  old  house,  quaint,  you  know.  But 
it's  not  heated." 

"I'llbetcha!    Quaint!    My  Gawd!" 

Kit  Farley  rose  slowly  from  her  knees,  stumbling. 
She  grasped  the  pail  full  of  dark  brown  water.  With 
one  hand  she  pinned  up  a  lock  of  black  hair. 

She  had  become  mistress  of  herself  and  of  the  situa- 
tion. Nodding  curtly  to  Hilda — who  looked  frail  and 
stricken  beside  her — she  turned  toward  the  door. 

"I'll  say  good-night,"  she  threw  out  in  her  queer, 
resonant  voice.  "Thanks  for  the  tip !" 

All  at  once  she  looked  back  and  in  a  penetrating 
glance  took  in  Hilda  from  head  to  foot — her  meager 
colorlessness. 

"I  wouldn't  'uv  said  he's  a-picked  y'u." 

With  this  comment,  she  swung  away  into  the  damp 
gloom. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

AMOS  in  his  search  for  work  had  avoided  the  possi- 
bility, or  the  closing  in  of  the  necessity — of  a  makeshift. 
After  two  false  starts  in  business  it  was  unthinkable 
that  he  should  undertake  a  third.  But  he  came  to  the 
point  where  the  pinch  of  the  situation  demanded  money 
at  once.  So  it  was  that  he  obtained  work — of  a  sort. 
Ironically,  it  was  just  before  this  questionable  success 
that  he  was  doing  his  best  work  on  the  book.  He  gave 
his  mornings  to  it,  while  Harmony  was  in  the  public 
school  where  he  had  entered  her.  Immediately  after 
their  breakfast  of  milk  and  toast  he  sat  down  at  the 
one  table  in  the  clean,  cold  room  on  the  top  floor  of  the 
Jane  Street  house,  where  the  sum  poured  in  nearly  all 
day,  and  time  was  so  musically  measured,  and  wrote 
until  one  o'clock. 

The  notes  of  years  were  marshaling  themselves  and 
falling  into  shape  so  as  to  develop  a  thought  so  beauti- 
ful that  he  could  get  it  in  its  fullness  only  in  flying 
moments.  But  it  came  more  often  all  the  time.  When 
it  was  absent  he  sought  to  test  his  artistic  power  by 
building  up,  after  the  advice  of  the  two  young  poets 
who  once  gave  the  world  a  slim  volume  of  beauty 
called  "Lyrical  Ballads"  (with  an  introduction!)  "the 
recollected  emotion."  He  found  he  could  accomplish 
this,  and  that,  as  the  wise  young  men  of  another  cen- 
tury had  said,  the  method  was  better  than  composing  in 
the  flame  of  first  emotion.  The  book,  "Avalon,"  would 
have  been  finished  in  a  few  more  months.  The  bulk 
of  it  was  done!  This  the  failure  of  the  Atlantic  Sea- 

217 


218  The   Golden  Answer 

board  Realty  Company  and  Christina's  absence  had 
accomplished,  there  was  no  denying  the  fact.  He  had 
only  to  write  the  climax,  already  fully  outlined,  in  its 
permament  form,  and  after  that,  revision.  And  then, 
as  his  luck  would  have  it,  he  found  "work" ! 

But  he  had  come  so  near  to  his  last  dollar  that  this 
ending  of  his  long  search  was  a  matter  of  almost  public 
thanksgiving. 

He  came  home  to  the  house  on  Jane  Street  that 
afternoon — it  was  the  day  of  the  first  snowfall  of  the 
season,  when  the  eaves  of  the  red  houses  hung  white — 
and  ran  up  the  stairs,  almost  knocking  Miss  Zinnia 
down  in  the  upper  hall.  She  never  ascended  to  the 
third  story,  partly  because,  having  rented  it,  she  re- 
spected her  tenant's  privacy,  and  partly  because  one 
pair  of  stairs  was  all  she  could  manage.  Now  Amos, 
whom  she  liked  and  who  had  proved  himself  not  noble 
in  the  least,  put  his  arms  around  her  to  save  her  from 
a  fall,  and  then  astonishingly  began  to  laugh,  picked 
her  up,  and  carried  her  up  the  second  flight  of  stairs  to 
the  top  story.  She  hooked  her  ivory-headed  cane 
around  his  arm  and  took  with  calmness  the  turn  of 
events.  He  dumped  her  onto  his  cot  bed,  which  was 
disguised  as  a  divan  with  an  old  brown  and  red 
steamer  rug,  of  expensive,  soft  indestructibility.  Har- 
mony ran  to  smooth  Miss  Lark's  ruffled  aspect  and  to 
pick  up  her  cane,  which  had  clattered  to  the  floor. 

"I  wouldn't  give  a  penny  for  a  man  who  couldn't 
abduct  me,"  gasped  Zinnia.  "I  suppose  this  child 
already  knows  about  the  rape  of  the  Sabine  women. 
It's  taught  to  babies.  Remember,  little  girl,  this  is 
what  it  meant!  .  .  .  What's  up?" 

Amos  sat  down  beside  Zinnia  on  the  cot  and  took 
Harmony  on  his  knee. 

"I've  got  work,"  he  glowed. 


The   Golden   Answer  219 

"Mercy!"  exclaimed  Zinnia.  "I  thought  it  was 
something  important." 

He  asked  in  astonishment: 

"Well,  what  would  you  consider  important?" 

Miss  Lark  reflected  before  answering : 

"Meeting  an  old  companion  who  had  stood  by  in  a 
gale  of  wind !  These  streets  are  full  of  such  shipmates. 
Sometimes  I  see  them  meet.  After  years.  I  like  to." 

"That  would  be  important  indeed.    But " 

"Or  an  old  love.  The  heart  changes.  There  are 
extraordinary  meetings !" 

"Yes — but,  dear  Miss  Lark,  I've  met  no  one  at  all 
except  a  man  who  is  willing  to  give  me  work  with 
which  I  can  feed  Harmony  and  pay  for  these  rooms. 
Surely  that  is  important.  It's  not  much" — his  glow 
was  leaving  him — "I  had  to  take  a  makeshift  after  all. 
Something  temporary.  There  are  strange  compro- 
mises! But  it's  honorable,  steady  work.  I  can  save 
half  the  pay.  And  in  the  spring —  You  may  think  it 
odd,  but  I'm  happy  over  it !" 

"What  is  this  work?" 

"Why  the — the  garage  two  doors  from  here — they 
— they  needed  a  bookkeeper.  I'm  taken  on  at  twenty- 
five  a  week." 

"If  I  weren't  a  woman,  and  lame,"  said  Zinnia 
Lark,  looking  disappointed  in  him,  "I'd  go  to  sea." 

"And  leave  a  little  girl  alone  to— learn  about  the 
Sabine  women?" 

Zinnia  folded  her  lips. 

Amos  bent  close  to  her  until  she  raised  her  eyes. 
His  sparkled. 

"Miss  Zinnia,  they  asked  me  to  sweep  out  the  office 
every  morning,  and  once  a  week  to  swab  the  floor." 

She  smiled.    And  then  she  pulled  his  ear. 


22O  The    Golden   Answer 

"What  else  do  you  expect,  before  the  mast?"  she 
demanded. 

Then  Zinnia,  picked  up  her  cane,  and  smoothed  it  in 
silent  thought. 

"I  believe  I  should  like  to  go  downstairs  the  way  I 
came  up,"  she  mentioned. 

When  he  had  put  her  carefully  in  her  own  chair  by 
her  front  bedroom  window,  she  looked  up  again. 
Hooking  her  cane  around  his  neck  she  pulled  him  down 
a  little  and  peered  into  his  face.  After  this  scrutiny 
she  released  him  and  waved  him  off. 

And  as  he  went  she  called  after  him: 

"You'll  do." 

Before  the  happiness  of  his  relief  wore  off  he  wrote 
to  Christina.  He  did  not,  of  course,  intend  to  keep  her 
long  in  ignorance  of  the  removal  to  Jane  Street.  Just 
at  first  he  could  not  write  her  of  it.  Now  that  he  had 
even  inferior  work  he  felt  different  about  admitting 
that  downfall.  So  he  wrote  to  her,  even  happily. 

In  her  reply  she  said  very  little  about  the  change  of 
address,  except  that  she  had  never  heard  of  Jane 
Street.  (They  were  alike  in  that,  certainly.)  Toward 
the  end  of  a  letter  which  was  remarkable  for  the  little 
it  told,  she  wrote,  though  he  had  not  mentioned  her 
return:  "It  is  better  to  wait  here  until  things  right 
themselves.  What  would  you  do  with  me  if  you  had 
me  there?" 

The  garage  was  awful.  The  hours  were  very  long. 
But  he  would  not  have  minded  so  much  if  Christina 
had  been  there  when  he  came  home.  He  missed  her 
more  in  this  unfamiliar,  castaway  existence  than  he 
had  when  all  his  surroundings  had  spoken  of  her  and 
it  seemed  that  at  any  moment  she  might  walk  in  the 
door.  Having  Harmony  was  the  one  thing  that  kept 
him  going.  And  when  one  came  to  think  of  it  that 


The   Golden   Answer  221 

was  strange!  There  were  many  puzzling  things;  life 
presented  unsupposed  values.  Another  puzzle  was  that 
his  own  beautiful  hazard  had  brought  them  to  this, 
but  with  it  had  come  happiness,  while  Christina's  dis- 
cretion was  undeniably  reasonable,  perhaps  even  wise 
(for  what  in  heaven's  name  would  he  do  with  her 
here  ?) ,  yet  it  cut  like  a  sword,  and  he  doubted  if  it  were 
bringing  her  happiness. 

There  was  no  time  any  more  for  the  book.  The 
deprivation,  after  having  gone  back  to  it,  wore  on  him. 
He  was  always  tired.  When  he  did  try  to  write  at 
night,  after  the  exhausting,  deadening  work  he  was 
forced  to  do,  the  words  became  confused  and  perfectly 
mad. 

"If  a  man  would  find  harmony,  which  is  only  an- 
other word  for  beauty  or  reality  or  God,"  he  found 
himself  writing  on  his  old  yellow  pad,  "let  him  go  up 
into  a  high  mountain  and  kneel  down  and  pray  that  he 
may  understand  why  it  is  that  he  continues  to  love 
Christina." 

Surely  that  was  a  mad  sentence !  He  spent  the  rest 
of  the  evening  trying  to  think  what  he  had  intended  to 
say. 

Night  after  night  he  had  experiences  of  this  kind. 
His  mind  was  too  weary  to  be  forced  beyond  a  certain 
point;  after  that  it  ran  of  itself  into  the  grooves  of 
habit.  He  could  not  wrench  it  out  of  this  preoccupa- 
tion with  the  strange  situation  between  him  and  his 
wife. 

But  one  night,  after  having  startled  Miss  Zinnia 
Lark  by  kissing  her  on  the  stairs,  he  was  alert  and 
brilliant  and  very  gay  with  Harmony.  She  laughed 
with  him  happily,  and,  after  writing  a  perfect  page, 
he  fell  asleep  on  the  couch,  where  he  spent  the  night, 
forgetting  to  undress. 


222  The   Golden   Answer 

After  that  the  book  became  a  mournful  ghost.  Sen- 
tences which  should  go  into  it  would  lilt  through  his 
mind  at  work  and  fly  away,  lost,  he  knew  from  ex- 
perience, forever.  So  he  grew  fairly  to  hate  it,  because 
he  loved  it  so  much ;  just  as  in  his  longing  for  Chris- 
tina he  sometimes  almost  hated  her.  Of  course  it  was 
reasonable  that  he  should  not  work  on  a  thing  that  at 
best  would  bring  only  a  very  little  money,  possibly 
none.  But  in  spite  of  his  recent  experience  he  still 
clung  to  the  conviction  that  the  Real  Things  in  the 
world  are  of  a  wind-flung  prodigality  of  life  and  love 
and  daring. 

Miss  Zinnia  Lark,  who  had  ideas  of  her  own  about 
what  was  important  and  unimportant,  and  whom 
Amos  would  have  liked  to  know  better  if  he  had  had 
more  time,  now  was  obliged  to  leave  for  a  little  while 
the  house  on  Jane  Street  to  which  she  had  clung  so 
long  and  go  to  the  assistance  of  her  brother  Truebee. 
For  Truebee  was  becoming  increasingly  queer,  just  as 
Amos  had  heard  before  he  first  thought  of  renting  the 
top  floor  of  Zinnia's  "miserable  house."  He  and  Hilda 
Martin  had  once  thought  that  the  delicate  little  man 
who  gave  his  life  to  the  cultivation  of  flowers  seemed 
to  pour  all  his  strength  into  them,  so  that  they  bloomed 
in  his  stead.  And  it  was  after  a  peculiarly  riotous 
year,  when  his  gardens  and  greenhouses  had  blazed 
almost  crazily  in  an  outburst  of  flaming  exuberance, 
that  Truebee  himself  weakened.  The  transmutation, 
if  that  were  it — and  who  knows?  there  are  stranger 
things! — was  complete.  So  at  last  his  sister  left  her 
ships'  bells  and  traveled  inland.  It  was  her  expecta- 
tion, when  it  became  possible,  to  bring  Truebee  back 
with  her.  There  were  no  flowers  of  any  kind  on  Jane 
Street  Harmony  was  the  only  blossoming  thing  in 
number  thirteen. 


The   Golden   Answer  223 

Zinnia's  going  left  the  house  empty  except  for  the 
top  floor,  for  her  only  servant  was  a  charwoman,  and 
Amos  could  not  afford  to  hire  her.  He  did  the  neces- 
sary cleaning  himself. 

Perhaps  the  unbroken  white  little  woman  had  un- 
intentionally helped  him.  At  any  rate,  after  her  going 
he  faced  for  the  first  time  frankly  the  necessity  of  a 
conflict  he  had  been  subconsciously  expecting  and 
staving  off.  His  old  enemy  would  have  at  him  again, 
it  seemed.  That  was  it.  No  use  in  disguising  it  any 
more.  That  which  he  could  hold  in  abeyance  with 
ease  when  he  was  happy — for  in  the  years  he  had  had 
Harmony  his  lapses  had  been  few,  and  there  were  none 
while  he  had  Christina — would  assail  him  now  in  his 
ill  fortune. 

But  it  was  not  in  him  not  to  fight.  His  greatest 
horror  was  weakness.  For  like  most  strong  men  he 
sometimes  feared  he  was  weak.  It  is  the  weak  who 
make  a  habit  of  boasting  of  their  strength,  as  a  coward 
will  brag  of  his  bravery. 

So  he  settled  down  to  it,  and  again  Harmony,  a 
child  who,  perhaps,  should  not  have  been  born,  was  his 
greatest  aid  and  comfort.  He  kept  her  up  when  she 
should  have  been  asleep,  playing  and  reading  with  her. 
He  took  her  walking  with  him,  tiring  her  out,  and 
then  carried  her  while  she  slept  until  he  himself  was 
exhausted.  He  awakened  her  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  to  have  supper  with  him  in  her  blue  bath  robe. 
(Harmony  thought  that  this  was  living  again.)  And 
once  he  lifted  her  out  of  her  warm  bed — the  sweet, 
babyish  odor  still  clung  to  her  soft  body — and  taking 
her  to  his  own  bed,  slept  with  her  in  his  arms. 

But  Harmony  could  not  protect  him  forever.  The 
man  of  valor  is  not  the  one  who  can  fight  only  with  the 
support  of  others,  but  he  who  creeps  out  alone  on  a 


224  The   Golden   Answer 

terrible  errand,  who,  falling  wounded,  gets  up  and 
goes  on,  or,  alone  and  suffering,  does  not  lose  hope. 
There  were  three  nights  when  he  let  Harmony  sleep, 
locking  her  door  because  he  did  not  want  her  to  wake 
and  see  him  as  she  might  see  him.  On  the  first  night 
he  walked  up  and  down  until  morning.  The  second  he 
wrote  all  night,  and  tore  up  the  worthless  stuff,  laugh- 
ing at  the  idea  that  he  should  have  thought  it  possible 
to  win  against  so  big  a  thing  as  Fate.  The  third  night 
he  did  not  come  home  until  in  the  early  dawn  he  was 
tortured  by  the  sudden  remembrance  that  Harmony 
was  alone  in  the  house,  and  ran  all  the  way  to  Jane 
Street,  fearing  fire. 

On  the  fourth  night,  in  a  drizzling  rain  that  had 
soaked  him  to  the  skin,  he  met  a  woman  on  the  street 
corner  whom  he  called  Kit.  She  turned  and  walked 
with  him,  her  hand  slipped  through  his  arm,  while  he 
talked  a  great  deal  in  a  wild,  bewildering  way  about 
someone  called  "Gloriana." 

"Gloriana!"  muttered  Kit.  "Never  heard  of  her. 
It  can't  be  that  skimpy  one !" 

"And  then,"  he  said  to  her  solemnly,  "the  white 
flames  began  to  eat  the  cloth  of  gold.  Oh,  God !" 

The  woman  called  Kit  went  all  the  way  home  to 
number  thirteen  Jane  Street  with  him,  without  saying 
much,  and  left  him  at  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

IT  was  a  week  later  that  he  had  strange  proof  of 
Christina's  love  for  him. 

After  Harmony  was  asleep,  her  door  unlocked  to- 
night, he  got  out  his  old  red  portfolio  and  began  to 
write,  feeling  ashamed  of  the  work  he  had  been  obliged 
to  burn.  He  built  up  the  fire  in  the  small  "wood" 
stove,  for  since  his  income  had  risen  to  twenty-five 
dollars  a  week  he  and  Harmony  had  at  least  one  of  the 
requisites  of  a  home — a  bright  fire.  The  open  grate 
was  not  sufficient  to  keep  them  warm,  so  a  small,  fat 
stove  with  apoplectic  tendencies  to  become  red  hot,  had 
been  installed.  Amos  was  not  the  traditional  genius 
in  an  attic  who  shivered  in  his  overcoat.  But  he  wrote 
by  candlelight,  because  the  thin  blue  flame  of  the  im- 
perfect gas  fixture  was  worse  than  nothing  for  illumi- 
nation, and  filled  the  room  with  fumes.  He  had  not 
bothered  to  buy  an  oil  lamp. 

To-night  the  book  went  well.  It  seemed  to  him 
absurdly  beautiful.  He  knew,  as  one  does  in  a  dream, 
that  he  would  awake  and  see  its  faults,  but  was 
grateful  to  find  that  for  a  short  time  he  could  feel  it 
was  all  he  wanted  it  to  be.  Fatigue  fell  away,  and 
with  a  warm  work-a-day  intentness,  every  faculty 
acute,  he  gave  himself  to  artificial  and  temporary  con- 
tent. Yet,  alert  as  he  was,  he  did  not  hear  a  taxicab 
stop  outside  in  Jane  Street,  though  cabs  were  rare 
enough  in  that  byway  to  attract  attention.  Not  until 
a  bell  had  rung  sharply  three  times  did  he  realize  that 
it  was  sounding  in  the  empty  hallway  downstairs. 

225 


226  The   Golden   Answer 

Someone,  who  had  come  in  a  cab,  was  ringing  the  bell 
of  thirteen  Jane  Street  with  persistence. 

He  sat  still,  wondering  who  it  could  be.  If  Miss 
Lark  had  returned  with  Truebee,  she  would  come  in  a 
cab,  but  she  would  not  ring  the  bell.  Perhaps  this  was 
an  old  friend  of  Miss  Zinnia's;  for  she  who  dwelt  on 
strange  meetings  must  have  one  in  mind.  As  the  bell 
jangled  for  the  fifth  time  he  roused  to  the  idea  that  he 
must  go  to  the  door,  for  the  caller,  evidently  seeing  his 
light,  would  not  leave  unsatisfied. 

He  went  down  through  the  dark  house  with  his  hand 
on  the  cold,  dusty  stair  railings,  and  in  the  lower  hall 
lighted  the  gas,  after  several  failures.  It  burned  feebly 
in  its  old-fashioned  red  "globe,"  that  was  not  globular 
at  all  but  open  at  the  top  and  had  on  one  side  a  design 
of  daisies.  He  was  pleased  after  his  success  with  the 
gas  and  nearly  forgot  to  open  the  door.  When  the 
bell  jangled  very  close  to  him  in  the  back  hall,  he 
jumped,  and,  unbolting  the  rusty  catch,  opened  the  old 
front  door  and  peered  out. 

Christina  was  on  the  steps. 

He  stood  a  long  time  looking  at  her,  and  finally  with 
a  slight  motion  of  invitation  said: 

"Won't  you  come  in?" 

She  walked  in  without  a  word  and  looked  around 
curiously.  A  faint  scent  of  roses  and  fresh  air  entered 
the  chilly  hall.  Amos  shut  the  door,  and  bolted  it.  He 
did  not  look  at  her  after  the  first,  but  with  another 
slight  motion  of  his  hand,  said: 

"I'll  just  show  you  the  way." 

He  preceded  her  up  the  two  flights  of  stairs. 

When  they  were  in  the  warm,  candle-lighted  room 
on  the  third  floor,  he  was  still  afraid  to  look  at  her. 
To  recover  from  this  embarrassing  terror  he  walked 
over  to  the  window  and  looked  down  into  the  silent 


The   Golden  Answer  227 

street.  The  taxicab  was  thudding  softly  before  the 
door. 

He  turned  back  to  her  at  last,  his  heart  flooded  with 
mounting  joy. 

"You— didn't  write  me,"  he  stammered.  "I  didn't 
know!  Let  me — let  me  take  your  things,  dear " 

She  met  his  eyes,  and  hers  fell,  veiling  a  sudden 
change.  It  was  much  later  that,  in  the  "recollected 
emotion,"  he  recaptured  the  disturbed  curiosity  in  her 
eyes  that  had  leapt  out  over  the  calmness  of  a  settled 
plan,  and  the  something  else,  warmer  than  curiosity. 

Christina  was  looking  very  lovely  in  her  plain  light 
brown  suit  and  dark  brown  furs.  Her  small  hat  rested 
with  inimitable  grace  on  her  shining  hair. 

Now,  raising  her  eyes  to  his  again,  she  said,  not 
answering  him: 

"What  have  you  been  doing,  to  get  so  thin?" 

Another  flare  of  joy. 

"I — I  suppose  I've  been — walking  a  good  deal.  I'm 
naturally  thin.  Christina " 

She  was  looking  at  his  table  and  at  the  two  white 
candles  spilling  grease. 

"You  ought  not  to  write  by  candlelight,"  she  said. 

"Christina " 

"Oil  is  cheaper  than  eyesight,"  was  her  conclusion. 

He  felt  the  knowledge  stealing  over  him  that  this 
was  a  strange  conclusion.  And  with  it  came  a  slight, 
oh,  a  very  slight,  chilly  misgiving.  .  .  . 

She  turned  now  and  looked  around  the  room :  at  the 
walls  bare  of  pictures — except  for  one  of  the  Matter- 
horn,  which  she  knew  Amos  had  climbed,  at  the  floor, 
on  which  was  one  small,  braided  rug,  at  his  cot  bed, 
with  the  bright  plaid  steamer  rug  askew. 

"You  can't  be  very  comfortable  here." 

When  she  turned  her  head  her  chin  was  outlined 


228  The   Golden   Answer 

white  against  the  dark  brown  fur  in  a  beautiful,  sweet 
curve.  He  had  forgotten — how  was  it  possible  to  for- 
get?— he  had  forgotten  how  beautiful,  how  imper- 
fectly, unbelievably  lovely  and  desirable  she  was.  In 
one  blind  moment  he  held  her  in  his  arms  again. 

He  had  it  to  remember  afterward  that  she  kissed 
him  then!  But  she  could  not  have  meant  to,  because 
what  she  said  was — breathlessly : 

"I  believe — you've  been  drinking!" 

He  felt,  then,  the  most  terrible  shame  that  had  ever 
come  to  him.  For  it  was  true.  White-faced,  he  had 
nothing  to  say,  but  he  would  not  have  touched  her 
again  for  a  king's  fortune.  They  stood  apart,  both 
miserable  now,  Christina  as  pale  as  he.  It  was  a 
strange  meeting. 

In  the  silence  the  patient  throbbing  of  the  taxicab 
came  up  from  the  street  below.  And  with  the  sound 
an  idea  that  had  been  darting  shapelessly  about  in  his 
mind,  like  a  bat  in  the  twilight,  took  on  definiteness. 
She  had  told  the  cab  driver  to  wait.  He  understood 
the  creeping,  chill  misgiving,  which  was  now  a  cer- 
tainty. 

As  if  conscious  of  his  thought  she  began  to  speak 
with  attempted  casualness. 

"Amos,  this  is  an — entirely  unexpected  trip.  Aunt 
Bertha  is  on  her  way  to  Washington.  She  invited  me 
to  go  with  her.  We  had — had  a  couple  of  hours  here. 
So " 

He  did  not  help  her  out. 

"We  are — passing  through " 

She  faltered  to  a  pause  and  could  not  finish. 

"I  understand,"  he  finally  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  wanted  to  know — to  see — how  you  are.  I  am 
sorry — you  aren't  looking  well.  I  wish  you  could  find 
a — better  room." 


The   Golden  Answer  229 

"This  is  all  right,  thanks.  I  like  it  here.  So  does 
Harmony." 

"Oh — how  is  Harmony?" 

"I  think  she  is  quite  happy." 

"I  suppose  she  is  asleep." 

"Yes,  I  don't  want  to  wake  her." 

"Amos — I  have  forgotten — how  old  is  Har- 
mony?" 

"She  was  eight  the  fourth  of  last  June." 

He  wondered  with  passion  how  he  could  manage  to 
make  this  thing  very  brief.  But  Christina  did  it  for 
him.  She  raised  her  hand  and  looked  at  the  tiny  watch 
on  her  wrist.  It  was  made  of  platinum  and  set  with 
several  small  diamonds.  Amos  had  given  it  to  her. 
He  said  now: 

"Don't  lose  your  train.    It  would  be  awkward." 

"No,  I — I  mustn't  lose  the  train — of  course." 

She  looked  around  the  room,  coming  as  near  herself 
to  awkwardness  as  it  was  possible  for  a  woman  of  her 
grace.  Then  she  turned  and  walked  very  quickly  to 
the  door. 

He  saw  her  muff  on  the  floor  in  the  shadow  of  the 
table  where  it  had  fallen  when  he  kissed  her.  He  tried 
to  speak,  to  move,  to  pick  it  up  and  go  after  her  with 
it,  but  could  not  He  could  not  bear  to  touch  it  I 
The  door  closed  after  her  and  he  heard  her  running 
down  the  stairs.  Then  the  front  door  slammed. 

For  a  moment  or  two  his  mind  refused  to  work. 
His  only  thought  was  that  now  he  would  have  to  go 
down  and  bolt  the  door,  because  it  had  an  old-fash- 
ioned lock  to  which  he  had  the  key  and  could  be  opened 
from  outside. 

But  thought  and  feeling  came  back  soon  enough. 
Had  he  not  begun  the  evening  with  senses  all  acute? 
Half  mad  with  anger  he  raged  up  and  down  the  room 


230  The   Golden   Answer 

because  she  had  done  this  thing  to  him,  and  he  loved 
her!  He  knew,  too,  that  she  loved  him!  This  was 
merely  her  way.  He  had  been  drinking.  But  this 
would  not  exactly  make  him  stop.  Her  way  was  a 
peculiar  way. 

Epitomized  in  the  casual,  insolent,  half  yearning, 
half  hateful  act  of  the  woman  he  had  married,  all  that 
was  desolate  or  tragic  in  his  whole  life  seemed  to  roll 
over  him  now.  There  was  no  touch  lacking  to  the 
bitterness  of  it.  For  in  her  he  had  once  found  all  the 
beauty  he  had  felt  in  life.  He  tried  to  pull  her  image 
down  and  cast  it  into  the  fire.  That  was  the  place 
for  such  images — the  fire.  But  he  had  not  yet  the 
strength. 

There  was  the  book,  "Avalon,"  too!  He  paused 
before  the  table  where  it  was  all  spread  out.  And  the 
madness  was  still  on  him.  This,  too,  he  loved  and 
hated.  He  loved  it  because  in  it  was  all  the  beauty  he 
had  seen  in  the  world.  He  hated  it  because  he  knew 
that  life  would  not  let  him  achieve  it  in  perfection.  The 
fanatical  madness  of  men  who  kill  the  thing  they  love 
shook  him.  In  trembling  hands  he  gathered  up  a  pile 
of  pages,  covered  with  small,  black  writing,  and  car- 
ried them,  dropping  several,  to  the  stove.  Opening  the 
little  iron  door  he  thrust  the  pages  into  the  red  heart 
of  the  fire.  Flames  burst  from  them.  .  .  .  He  went 
back  for  more.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  the  hall  door  opened  and  Christina,  who 
had  risked  losing  her  train  to  come  back  for  her  muff, 
stood  watching  him. 

He  threw  another  handful  of  manuscript  on  the  fire. 
The  small  stove  was  beginning  to  roar  now. 

Christina  stepped  inside  the  room. 

"Amos!"  she  cried.  "What  are  you  doing?  It's 
your  book !  Oh,  stop  1" 


The   Golden   Answer  231 

He  answered  her  quietly,  though  his  eyes  glittered. 

"Please  stand  out  of  my — way.  It  makes  a  good — 
blaze,  doesn't  it?" 

She  began  to  cry. 

"You  don't  know  what  you're  doing.  Give  it  to  me, 
Amos!  Don't  burn  it!  You  —  you  worked  so 
hard " 

He  turned  on  her  and  she  hardly  knew  his  face.  His 
voice  came  jerkily. 

"Perhaps  I'm— drunk,  as  you — suggest — but  I  know 
what  I'm — doing.  Perfectly.  I'm  burning  up  my — 
book !  I  don't  want  it  to  disappoint — me.  Or — mock 
me.  I'm — burning  it — because  I  can't  afford  to  love — 
it.  Do  you  see — that?  I'm  burning  it  because  it's 
beautiful " 

He  crammed  the  last  handful  into  the  red  stove  and 
shut  the  door.  Then  he  walked,  unsteadily,  over  to 
her.  He  stood  close,  but  did  not  touch  her.  He 
said: 

"Won't  you  go  now,  Christina,  please?" 

She  had  never  heard  more  forceful  words  in  her 
life.  She  went  out  very  swiftly,  and  quietly  closed  the 
door. 

After  all  she  did  not  take  her  muff.  Her  hands 
would  be  cold — very  cold!  He  did  not  understand 
why  his  own  hands  were  so  cold,  when  there  was  such 
a  hot  fire  in  the  stove.  He  had  thought  it  would  burn 
forever !  But  he  found  to  his  surprise  that  it  was  out. 
It  must  be  out,  because  he  was  cold — all  over.  And 
so  was  the  candle  out.  The  silver  light,  then,  that  lay 
across  the  room?  The  moon  of  course.  .  .  .  He  dis- 
covered, to  his  intense  surprise  and  curiosity,  that  he 
was  lying  on  the  floor,  between  the  stove  and  the  table. 
Something  electrically  soft  and  sweet  was  against  his 


232  The    Golden   Answer 

cheek.  Christina's  muff!  He  vaguely  thought  about 
getting  up,  but  decided  against  it.  ...  The  contract- 
ing stove  snapped.  The  moonlight  crept  up  the  wall 
and  rested  on  the  Matterhorn.  He  fell  asleep  with  his 
face  buried  in  Christina's  muff. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

HILDA  did  not  send  her  mother  South,  because  it 
was  impossible.  Although  Joseph  Carlton,  with  the 
grudging  admission  that  she  had  "got  down  to  work," 
gave  her  an  increase  in  pay,  it  was  not  enough  to  make 
it  wise  to  touch  the  small  sum  laid  away  for  an  emer- 
gency. As  her  mother  grew  frailer,  Hilda  wondered 
if  this,  after  all,  were  not  the  emergency.  Grimly 
frank,  she  asked  herself  if  she  were  saving  the  money 
to  pay  the  expenses  of  her  mother's  death  instead  of 
for  the  sunshine,  and  rest  that  would  bring  her  life. 
She  had  decided  to  risk  everything  and  send  her  to 
Florida  before  the  raw  New  York  winter  reached  its 
worst,  when  the  decision  was  taken  out  of  her  hands. 
Mrs.  Martin  went  to  bed,  one  December  afternoon, 
with  pneumonia. 

She  did  not  die:  Hilda  thought  it  was  because  she 
was  too  sensible.  She  hung  on  to  life,  not  passionately, 
but  with  a  calm  determination  to  stay  with  Hilda  for 
a  while  longer  to  help  make  things  easy.  It  might  not 
be  possible,  of  course,  but  she  intended  to  stay  if  she 
were  allowed.  Being  practical,  she  got  ready  for 
Death,  in  case  it  came.  She  did  not  fear  it,  but  thought 
that  it  was  just  as  well  to  be  prepared.  She  always  had 
put  her  blankets  away  in  mothballs  early. 

Although  she  was  an  old-fashioned  woman  she  did 
not  turn  to  the  churchly  comforts  that  would  have  been 
in  character.  Instead,  she  relied  upon  the  more  pagan 
supports,  which  had  been  her  husband's.  This  she  did 
at  first  merely  because  they  were  his,  afterward  from 

233 


234  The   Golden   Answer 

preference.  The  preference  secretly  shocked  her,  but 
she  decided  that  the  Lord  would  not  care,  as  long  as 
these  things  helped  her. 

She  had  Hilda  get  out  the  books  which  had  sustained 
the  Engineer  in  his  tedious  illness.  One  of  her 
favorites,  as  it  had  been  the  Engineer's,  was  "Socrates 
in  His  Own  Defense."  She  fell  into  a  peaceful  sleep 
after  Hilda  had  read  to  her: 

"For  the  fear  of  death  is  indeed  the  pretense  of  wis- 
dom, and  not  real  wisdom,  being  a  pretense  of  knowing 
the  unknown ;  and  no  one  knows  whether  death,  which 
men  in  their  fear  apprehend  to  be  the  greatest  evil, 
may  not  be  the  greatest  good." 

She  shook  her  gray  head  a  little  over  the  prayer  of 
Socrates  on  the  slope  of  the  Ilissus,  thinking  more  of 
the  Engineer  in  life  and  death  than  of  the  conversa- 
tional philosopher  or  of  herself,  and  yet  sure  that  such 
a  prayer  would  help  her  to  be  good. 

"Dear  Pan,  and  other  gods  who  may  be  here,  grant 
that  I  may  grow  beautiful  within.  May  what  I  have 
with  what  I  am  be  friendly." 

And  so,  whether  it  was  Pan  who  helped  her,  or  some 
other  god,  or  a  good  doctor,  or  whether  she  helped 
herself,  she  did  not  die,  but  stayed  on  a  while  longer 
with  Hilda. 

'  If  Amos  Fortune  had  known  he  would  have  smiled 
over  the  apparent  paradox  of  the  commonplace  old 
lady  (Hilda  was  the  child  of  her  middle  age)  who  at 
the  approach  of  death  prayed  in  the  words  of  Socrates 
instead  of  the  church,  while  in  active  life  her  occupa- 
tion was  making  people  comfortable  and  her  highest 
pinnacle  a  Wednesday  evening  prayer  meeting.  For 
out  of  just  this  sort  of  paradox  had  grown  his  "pris- 
matic banking"  idea.  And  there  was  Miss  Zinnia 
Lark.  And  had  he  not  written  in  "Avalon"  of  the 


The   Golden   Answer  235 

light  that  shines  through  the  prism  of  commonplace 
souls  and  makes  them  kindle  in  fantastic  beauty  ? 

One  Sunday  when  Mrs.  Martin  was  convalescent 
Amos  sent  Harmony  to  call  on  Hilda  and  inquire  for 
her  mother.  He  was  not  feeling  well  enough  to  go 
himself,  but  he  took  Harmony  to  the  station,  put  her 
on  the  suburban  train,  and  arranged  to  meet  her  when 
she  returned.  He  sent  a  note  to  Hilda,  with  a  small 
bunch  of  English  violets  for  Mrs.  Martin.  The  note 
said: 

"Dear  Hilda:  If  there  is  any  way  in  which  I  can 
help  you,  let  me  know.  I  realize  what  these  weeks 
have  meant  to  you,  although  I  did  not  hear  about  them 
until  they  were  over;  and  am  sending  you  Harmony, 
for  she  is  better  than  the  spring  flowers  (grown  under 
glass,  not  skies)  that  I  must  not  send.  I  thank  God 
with  you  that  the  little  lady  is  better.  Give  her  my 
love. 

"I  have  some  work  which  is  helping  out  nicely  until 
I  find  a  good  opening  somewhere.  When  your  mother 
is  better  bring  her  over  to  call  on  Harmony  and  me. 
I'd  like  to  see  her  amazement  at  Miss  Lark,  who.  I 
hope,  will  be  back  by  that  time. 
"Faithfully  yours, 

"Amos  Fortune." 

Hilda  read  the  note  that  told  her  so  little  and  gave 
herself  up  to  the  happiness  of  having  Harmony  with 
her,  her  mother  downstairs  for  the  first  time,  thrilled 
over  the  violets,  and  a  note  from  Amos,  all  on  the  same 
afternoon.  Harmony,  in  her  old  brown  linen  smock, 
very  short  now,  and  with  a  three-cornered  tear  that 
had  not  been  mended,  sat  on  the  Engineer's  rickety 
sofa  and  drank  cambric  tea  and  was  very  talkative. 


236  The   Golden   Answer 

"We  have  the  duckiest  house,  Hilda.  It's  a  little  red 
brick  house,  sort  of  fat.  We  think  it  looks  like  a  cab 
driver,  with  a  red  face,  you  know,  and  a  turned  up  nose 
and  a  wink  in  his  eye,  and  just  a  teeny  bit  drunk. 
Oh,  Hilda,  don't  you  adore  to  pieces  Sam  Weller  and 
Sam  Weller's  father?  I  just  had  to  laugh  so  when 
he  called  right  out  in  court,  'Put  it  down  a  we,  my 
lord !'  Amos  says  I'm  not  too  little  to  read  about  Mr. 
Pickwick  now.  Don't  you  think  Snodgrass  is  a  very 
ludicuss  name,  Hilda?" 

"Fine  old  English  name,  my  dear,"  said  Hilda. 
"Always  longed  to  be  Mrs.  Snodgrass  myself." 

Harmony  giggled  and  stirred  her  tea. 

"I  think  Mr.  Pickwick  was  a  very  kind-hearted, 
moral  man  and  no  wonder  they  made  him  the  head 
of  the  club  and  drank  his  health  so  often,  but  of  course 
it  wasn't  good  for  them  at  all.  Was  it?" 

"No,  indeed." 

"Oh,  Hilda,  there's  a  book  in  the  school  library — 
well,  I  guess  you  never  read  in  your  life  such  a  good 
book.  I  love  it — well,  more  than  tongue  can  tell,  as  I 
used  to  say  when  I  was  a  small  girl.  Well,  I  guess  you 
can't  tell  what  that  book  is,  Hilda.  But  Amos  said 
he  bet  you  had  a  copy,  and  he's  sorry  he  hasn't  one, 
but  you  see  he  was  a  boy  and  not  a  girl,  and  Christina 
didn't  have  one,  but  he'll  buy  me  one  soon " 

"Hold  on,  give  me  two  guesses !"  cried  Hilda. 

"Well,  they  had  a  Pickwick  Club,  too,  and  now,  you 
know,  and  Jo  was  Mr.  Snodgrass.  And  do  you 
remember  how  Laurie  hid  in  the  closet  on  the  piece 
bag  and  so  they  had  to  make  him  a  member?  And 
they  had  a  paper,  and  a  post  office,  and  they  made  up 
plays!  Oh,  dear  me,  I  certainly  wish  I  had  three 
sisters." 

"You  darling!"  Hilda  exclaimed,  and  hugged  the 


The   Golden   Answer  237 

slim,  brown-smocked  figure.  "Of  course  I  have  the 
book  and  have  read  it  two  dozen  times.  Will  you  ever 
forget  how  Amy  broke  through  the  ice?  Harmony 
dear,  you  may  take  my  copy;  I  can't  give  it  to  you 
because  it  was  Mother's  when  she  was  a  little  girl,  but 
you  can  keep  it  as  long  as  you  like." 

"Oh,  thank  you ;  the  school  copy  does  smell !" 

Harmony  examined  with  joy  Hilda's  old-fashioned 
books,  for  this  was  the  little  light  red  edition  in  two 
volumes,  of  Mrs.  Martin's  generation. 

"Isn't  it  funny,"  remarked  Harmony,  looking  up 
from  a  picture  of  Meg,  Jo,  Beth,  and  Amy  in  hoop 
skirts  and  hair  nets,  "it  doesn't  make  a  bit  of  difference 
how  they  dressed!" 

"Say  that  to  the  woman  who  wrote  it  when  you  get 
to  heaven,  darling,"  Hilda  answered. 

After  tea,  and  after  the  little  girl  had  stood  very 
close  to  Mrs.  Martin  while  she  mended  the  three- 
cornered  tear,  Harmony  revealed  other  enthusiasms. 
Hilda  had  asked  her  what  she  did  with  herself  on  Jane 
Street  when  Amos  was  out,  with  no  yard  to  play  in 
or  hills  to  slide  down. 

"Oh,  Amos  makes  me  take  a  walk  every  day  after 
school,  always  the  same  way — straight  through  to 
Fifth  Avenue  and  down  to  Washington  Square,  and 
around  it,  and  back  by  the  same  streets.  But  then, 
besides,  I  have  the  Secret  to  keep  me  busy." 

"Oh,  lovely !    Nothing  like  a  Secret." 

"I  have  decided  to  tell  you.  Because  you  are  my 
confidential  friend.  I  talked  it  over  with  Amos,  and 
he  said  yes,  you  were  that  to  both  of  us." 

"Thank  you." 

Harmony,  politely  asking  Mrs.  Martin's  pardon, 
whispered  in  Hilda's  ear. 

"I  am  writing  a  book." 


238  The   Golden   Answer 

"Heavens!" 

"That  isn't  anything  to  jump  so  about,  Hilda.  I 
love  it.  It's  the  story  of  a  queen  and  a  king  and  a 
little  baby.  The  baby  belongs  to  them,  of  course: 
There  is  a  prince,  too,  and  I  am  going  to  have  a  robber 
baron,  and  I  want  to  have  a  cab  driver  somewhere, 
and  Robin  Hood,  too." 

"I  am  sure  it  will  be  extremely  exciting  with  that 
combination." 

"The  trouble  is  I  want  to  have  so  many  things,  and 
Amos  says  they  can't  all  be  in  the  same  book." 

"Better  take  his  advice." 

"Oh,  certainly.  It  is  the  most  fun,  Hilda !  I  showed 
it  to  Amos ;  but  that  was  before — and  he  said  he  wished 
I  hadn't  begun  it,  but  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  go 
on  and  finish  it  now,  and  heaven  help  me.  I  felt  pretty 
bad  when  he  said  that,  because  I  thought  he  would  be 
pleased,  and  he  kissed  me  ever  so  many  times  and  said 
I  couldn't  help  it." 

Harmony  did  not  talk  all  the  time,  having  been 
trained  to  listen  to  older  people,  but  she  burst  out  again 
later,  after  Mrs.  Martin  and  Hilda  had  finished  a  dis- 
cussion of  Mrs.  Martin's  trip  South.  For  as  soon  as 
she  was  able  Hilda  was  going  to  send  her  mother  to 
Florida,  even  though  the  journey  took  the  last  of  her 
savings. 

"I  think  Amos  loves  me  very  much  just  now," 
Harmony  said.  "I  mean  extra  love.  Did  it  ever  strike 
you,  Hilda,  that  Amos  is  a  very  loving  man?" 

"That  child  says  the  most  extraordinary  things," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Martin,  knitting  rapidly.  "Dearie,  see 
if  you  can  pick  up  this  stitch  I've  dropped.  I  declare, 
it's  down  two  rows !" 

But  in  spite  of  Harmony's  garrulity,  she  told 
nothing  of  the  nights  when  she  had  been  locked  in  her 


The   Golden   Answer  239 

room,  and  knew  why.  Nor  did  she  say  anything  about 
the  burning  of  the  book  "Avalon."  She  had  found 
him,  and  the  ashes. 

One  reason  why  Harmony  had  been  especially  glad 
to  go  to  the  Martins'  was  because  she  expected  to  hear 
news  of  Charles  Brent.  She  had  not  seen  him  since 
she  went  to  his  house  to  say  good-by  and  was  received 
by  his  irritable  sister,  who  shrieked  when  Harmony 
told  her  that  the  bundle  she  carried  contained  a  pistol. 
The  shriek  had  brought  C.  M.  on  the  run.  He  had 
admired  the  pistol  and  had  been  most  grateful,  had  said 
that  he  would  make  it  a  point  to  shoot  tigers  with  it, 
but  he  didn't  know  whether  there  were  any  in  China. 
The  farewell  had  been  tearful,  Charles  Brent's  eyes 
becoming  moist  when  Harmony  cried.  He  had  sent 
her  a  card  from  London  and  another  from  Port  Said, 
for  he  went  the  long  way,  but  that  was  the  last  she 
knew  of  him. 

"Now,"  she  requested,  sitting  with  one  bare  leg 
under  her  while  Hilda  darned  her  stocking,  "tell  me 
every  single  bit  you  know  about  Mr.  C.  M." 

A  faint  color  rose  in  Hilda's  face. 

"There  are  some  pretty  cards,"  she  answered.  "He 
loves  to  send  picture  post  cards." 

Harmony  admired  them,  especially  a  photograph  of 
C.  M.  on  a  camel  with  the  Sphinx  as  a  background. 

"He  is  doing  all  the  things  that  he  is  supposed  to  do. 
I  imagine  that  he  is  a  perfect  tourist.  Of  course," 
Hilda  hastened,  "he  has  traveled  such  a  lot  that  he 
knows  just  what  to  do." 

Mrs.  Martin's  keen  glance  was  withdrawn  from  her 
daughter. 

"I  think,"  she  said  quietly,  "that  the  little  girl  could 
appreciate  Mr.  Brent's  last  letter.  The  one  about  the 
snake  charmer." 


240  The   Golden   Answer 

Hilda  brought  the  letter  out — she  seemed  to  have  a 
good  many — and  read  aloud  Charles  Brent's  ;erky  and 
unimaginative  descriptions  of  his  travels. 

Without  intending  to — of  such  primitive  form  were 
the  good  young  man's  sentences  and  paragraphs — 
Hilda  read  an  abrupt  question  that  followed  imme- 
diately a  comment  on  a  robber  dragoman. 

"When  are  you  going  to  write  me  to  come  back  ?" 

Harmony  cried  in  amazement.  "Oh,  Hilda,  write 
him  to-night." 

Hilda  answered  her  shortly,  and  put  away  the  let- 
ters, irritated  at  herself.  She  felt  sure  that  Harmony 
would  tell  Amos  that  she  had  only  to  send  for  Charles 
Brent  and  he  would  return,  and  the  thought  was  not 
agreeable  to  her. 

For  it  was  true. 

Charles  Brent  had  not  had  the  slightest  intention  of 
visiting  China,  or  any  other  foreign  land,  until  after  a 
certain  call  he  had  made  at  the  Martins'.  He  and 
Hilda,  alone  in  the  room  with  the  red  cover  on  the 
center  table,  had  talked  things  out.  Hilda  supposed 
everything  perfectly  plain  and  settled  definitely.  Not 
so  C.  M.  (Here  he  was  writing  about  her  sending  for 
him.) 

He  had  told  her  with  simplicity  about  his  love,  and 
when  she  wept  asked  if  there  were  any  other  man. 
Hilda,  frank  to  the  core  of  her  heart,  told  him  what 
she  would  never  tell  her  mother.  He  took  it  a  little 
hard,  but  assured  her  gently  that  he  understood;  he 
was  merely  sorry  that  she  had  such  a  thing  to  "go 
through."  He  assumed  that  she  would  come  through 
it.  And  then  he  told  her  of  his  own  first  love,  from 
which  he  had  "recovered."  That  was  the  word  he  used. 
Strange  confidences!  For  he  had  loved  Christina. 
Hilda  told  him  finally,  that,  at  any  rate,  he  would  not 


The   Golden   Answer  241 

want  her  until  she  had  "come  through."  It  did  not 
occur  to  her  as  indicative  that  she  could  talk  to  Charles 
Brent  more  frankly  than  to  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Martin  had  been  disappointed  when  C.  M.  left 
for  China.  But  she  made  no  sign.  Life  with  the 
Engineer  had  made  her  wise. 

At  the  end  of  that  Sunday  afternoon  of  contentment 
— full  of  the  blessed  relaxation  and  peace  that  the  con- 
valescence of  our  beloved  brings — Hilda  took  Har- 
mony to  the  station  and  put  her  aboard  the  train  Amos 
had  agreed  to  meet.  On  the  way,  Harmony,  passing 
an  open  drug  store,  had  insisted  on  making  a  purchase. 
To  Hilda's  amusement  she  bought  perfume !  Wisely, 
she  left  the  necessary  admonitions  to  Amos.  After 
all  he  had  brought  the  little  girl  up  marvelously  well, 
so  far. 

As  the  train  slid  out  Hilda  looked  after  it  wistfully. 
But  strangely  enough  she  was  wondering  what  kind  of 
trains  there  were  in  China.  And  when  she  turned 
away  a  thought  glowed  in  her  mind  like  a  ruby  em- 
bedded in  velvet — a  thought  that  almost  any  other  girl 
would  have  had  months  earlier.  The  wonder  of  travel- 
ing, lovingly  protected,  to  all  the  flame-colored, 
tropically  perfumed  lands  of  the  wide  earth!  She 
wished  she  had  not  had  the  thought.  And  because  she 
wished  that,  was  immune  to  its  influence.  For  Hilda's 
soul  was  crystal. 

Amos  met  the  train  and  took  Harmony  home  to  Jane 
Street,  hardly  hearing  her  chatter. 

When  they  had  returned  to  the  top  floor  of  number 
thirteen  and  Harmony  had  taken  her  things  off  and 
made  herself  ready  for  their  late  supper  he  noticed  her. 
She  had  slipped  off  the  brown  linen  and  put  on  one  of 
her  white  dresses,  in  which  he  liked  to  see  her.  He 
looked  across  at  her  and  noticed  how  her  cheek  glowed 


242  The   Golden   Answer 

and  her  eyes  darkened  as  she  talked.  Then  he  sniffed 
the  air. 

"Harmony, — have  you  perfume  on?" 

"Yes,  Amos,  it's  a  surprise.  I  bought  it  all  myself 
in  a  drug  store,  out  of  my  allowance." 

"You  selected  it  yourself?" 

"Yes,  Amos,"  proudly. 

He  leaned  toward  her. 

"Is  it— white  rose?" 

"Yes,  Amos." 

"Go  get  the  bottle." 

She  brought  it  to  him,  and  he  took  it  gently  from 
her  troubled,  curving  hands.  Carrying  it  to  the  win- 
dow, he  threw  it  out.  It  fell  shattering  down  into 
Jane  Street  with  a  brittle  explosive  sound. 

"Never  buy  that  again,  Harmony.  Now,  don't  cry, 
but  go  and  wash  your  hands." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

BETWEEN  longing  for  the  beautiful  thing  he  had 
made,  and  killed,  and  for  Christina,  who  loved  him  in 
such  a  queer  way,  Amos  began  to  feel  light-headed 
sometimes  while  he  was  about  his  dreadful  work.  He 
began  to  fear  that  he  might  fall  ill.  And  the  first  fear 
brought  with  it  another,  which  is  a  way  of  fear.  If 
he  were  ill  he  could  not  work!  And  there  was  Har- 
mony! 

This  excitement  of  mind  was  the  cause  of  strange 
illusions.  He  had,  for  instance,  the  sensation  that  his 
thoughts  were  being  chanted  aloud  by  many  voices, 
which  rose  higher  and  higher  to  a  dizzy  pitch,  ending 
in  a  scream.  When  this  happened  he  would  bury  his 
face  in  his  hands,  and  set  his  teeth  to  keep  from  groan- 
ing aloud. 

Once,  awakening  in  the  night  to  find  his  room  filled 
with  moonlight,  he  thought  he  saw  his  younger 
brother,  whom  he  loved.  For  an  instant  he  did  dis- 
tinctly see  him  standing  outside  Harmony's  closed 
door.  He  was  as  he  had  looked  at  eighteen,  smiling, 
with  his  little  model  airplane  in  his  hand.  Amos  leaped 
up — but  nothing  was  there  except  the  moonlight 
shining  on  the  Matterhorn.  .  .  .  They  had  climbed  it 
together  once,  and  Amos  stood  now  looking  at  the  peak 
a  long  time. 

But  the  crowning  illusion  was  of  another  sort.  One 
night  after  he  had  eaten  his  belated  supper  with  Har- 
mony, sleepy-eyed  in  her  blue  dressing  gown,  ready  for 
bed,  he  went  out  into  the  clear,  cold  evening  because 

243 


244  The    Golden   Answer 

the  top-floor  rooms  seemed  a  prison  to  him.  He  was 
unfettered:  if  he  stretched  out  his  arms  he  could  reach 
the  horizons;  he  could  lift  his  face  up  among  the  stars! 
The  old  trouble  had  nothing  to  do  with  this  drunken 
exaltation,  for  with  the  burning  of  the  book  had  come 
a  terrible  revulsion  from  the  cause  of  it.  It  was  as  if 
he  were  unconsciously  saving  himself.  Perhaps  the 
old  habit  of  resistance,  stored  away  in  his  subconscious 
mind,  made  such  an  apparent  miracle  only  a  natural 
phenomenon.  At  any  rate  the  calamity  had  sobered 
him.  Neither  did  the  old  trouble  have  anything  to  do 
with  his  illusion  that  the  girl  he  met  in  the  middle  of  a 
great  bridge  over  the  river  (the  Bridge;  he  had  wan- 
dered that  far)  was  Christina — the  incarnation  of  wor- 
shipful loveliness — or  with  his  kissing  her  high  under 
the  stars.  But  when  he  did  not  talk  to  her,  or  give  sign 
that  he  even  understood  her  language,  she  ran  away. 

Amos  walked  on  across  the  Bridge,  which  seemed 
to  him  to  have  risen  to  a  marvelous  height  over  the 
great  silent  river  that  swirled  in  swollen  darkness  to 
the  sea.  The  tide  at  its  fullness  had  just  turned,  and 
was  flooding  out.  As  swiftly  as  the  river,  his  veins 
seemed  to  run  with  a  fluid  at  once  cold  and  burning, 
like  camphor.  The  whole  tide  of  them  eddied  also  to 
the  Sea! 

He  felt  mighty.  He  desired  to  give  bodily  shape  and 
contour  to  the  violent,  radiant  thoughts  in  his  soul — to 
put  them  in  the  Book,  which  was  burnt,  so  that  he 
could  not. 

A  cold  wind  blew  from  the  ocean,  lying  vast  in  its 
age-long  mystery  just  beyond  the  harbor.  The  wind 
cleared  his  head.  He  knew  that  the  girl  had  not  been 
Christina — of  course  not,  what  was  wrong  with  him? 
But  she  seemed  beautiful  and  inscrutable.  She  was  all 
women.  And  when  he  reached  the  end  of  the  Bridge, 


The   Golden   Answer  245 

there  she  was,  yellow  hair  blowing  around  her  thin 
face,  waiting. 

He  stopped  before  her,  leaning  on  the  rail. 

"You  followed,  didn't  you?"  she  said  with  pallid 
archness. 

"You'll  do  for  'Avalon' !"  exclaimed  Amos  excitedly. 
"You're  perfect  for  it.  ...  Your  slim  body,  the 
lovely  dreadfulness  of  you.  .  .  .  I'll  put  in  your 
hands,  too.  Let  me  see  them — fragile  and  white  and 
— dirty !  You  didn't  know  they  were  made  to  hold  an 
alabaster  box.  They  might  have  been  beautiful,  my 
dear,  curving  around  it — .  It's  broken,  I  suppose. 
Cost  too  much,  didn't  it?" 

"Le'go  my  hand " 

"Lots  of  things  do.  But  your  throat — that's  free. 
It  looks  like  Diana's  in  marble." 

He  touched  her  throat  gently  with  his  fingers.  "But 
it  isn't." 

"You're  some  queer  guy,"  said  she. 

He  took  her  out  to  the  middle  of  the  Bridge  again, 
keeping  a  tight  hold  on  her  arm  for  fear  she  would 
break  away  and  run  from  him  as  she  seemed  about  to 
do,  and  there,  because  it  was  cold,  removed  his  coat 
and  put  it  around  her.  She  turned  her  large  blue  eyes 
on  him  fearfully,  and  fell  to  fingering  her  "pearl"  ear- 
rings with  a  nervous  hand.  Amos  and  she  stood,  as  at 
the  rail  of  a  ship,  facing  downstream. 

And  as  if  they  wer~  new  creations,  he  showed  her  the 
river,  deep,  sliding,  the  jagged  shores,  with  their  black 
buildings  and  steeples  and  domes  beyond  the  thin  spars 
or  dingy  funnels  of  ships.  He  showed  her,  far  below, 
the  moving  sky,  the  distant,  dark  hills.  It  seemed  to 
him,  all  at  once,  that  everything  moved  except  the  hills. 
The  earth — and  he  sensed  all  of  it — swarmed  and  beat 
with  life. 


246  The   Golden   Answer 

"Look  at  it,"  he  commanded  the  frail  girl  beside  him. 
She  jumped  at  his  voice.  "I'm  not  going  to  hurt  you. 
.  .  .  Feel  it  beat,  like  a  heart.  For  millions  of  years 
under  the  stars,  it  was  silent  and  vegetable,  with  enor- 
mous plants,  beautiful  and  hideous,  until  there  came  a 
movement  and  a  crawling  and  a  bursting  into  animal 
life.  After  ages  more  the  beasts  stood  up,  and  were 
men.  And  all  of  it  is  you!  Can't  you  feel  it?  I  love 
the  warm  earth  in  you.  Your  breath  is  a  west  wind." 

"My  Gawd!"  she  cried  out. 

She  pulled  away  from  him,  giving  a  shrill,  shaky 
laugh.  The  river  plunged  headlong  and  the  world's 
heart  beat  while  she  ran  away  down  the  Bridge,  with 
a  tapping  of  her  small,  runover  heels — a  scrap  of 
man's  story.  He  did  not  watch  her  out  of  sight. 

Instead,  he  looked  up  again  and  saw  the  stars,  be- 
yond the  icy  lace  work  of  the  Bridge — the  many  bright 
and  "tingling"  stars.  What  cries  went  shivering  up  to 
them,  the  more  thrilling  because  unvocal. 

A  tremendous  quickening  of  perception,  accom- 
panied by  a  sweep  of  emotion,  stronger  than  that  in 
which  he  had  conceived  the  idea  of  the  whole  earth,  a 
passionate,  vivid  conception  of  the  universe,  rushed 
through  him.  .  .  . 

Infinity  of  space.  .  .  .  Infinity  of  time.  .  .  .  Spin- 
ning worlds.  .  .  .  One  called  God !  .  .  . 

A  single  planet,  minute  among  many.  .  .  .  Man  and 
his  small  dramatic  story.  ...  In  the  whirl  and  flash 
of  perception  (as  if  in  the  moment  he  knew  the  truth 
and  was  free)  he  dragged  his  reaching  mind  back  to 
consider  his  own  soul  and  body,  with  their  part  in  the 
staggering  drama,  back,  back  to  the  marvel  of  the 
single  cell,  each  a  part  of  the  whole,  each  potentially 
harmonious. 

In  very  truth  the  stars  sang  together ! 


The    Golden    Answer  247 

He  thought:  But  what  of  dissonance? 

And  then:  As  long  as  man's  soul  does  mount  up- 
ward, as  long  as  his  cry  does  "shiver  to  the  tingling 
stars,"  beauty  is  triumphant. 

In  the  morning  he  was  too  ill  to  go  to  work.  He 
could  not  even  go  out  to  explain  at  the  garage,  be- 
cause the  weather  had  turned  colder,  and  the  strange 
girl  on  the  Bridge  had  taken  his  overcoat  away  with 
her.  So  he  sent  Harmony  around  to  the  garage, 
before  school,  to  say  he  would  surely  be  there  in  the 
afternoon. 

But  he  grew  worse  in  the  afternoon,  so  that  when 
Harmony  returned  from  school  he  made  her  go  out 
again  to  play  with  her  sled,  for  snow  had  fallen,  and 
ice  frozen  over  it.  Jane  Street  was  almost  as  good  as 
the  country. 

He  lay  on  the  couch  huddled  under  the  steamer  rug 
and  could  not  get  up.  It  was  impossible  to  imagine 
what  could  be  the  matter  with  him,  except  he  knew  that 
it  was  not  pneumonia  or  anything  like  that,  for  which 
one  needed  a  doctor.  The  short  afternoon  quickly 
drew  to  darkness.  Harmony  came  in,  and  when  he 
said  he  still  felt  lazy,  got  her  own  supper.  She  tried  to 
make  him  eat,  but  he  could  not  do  that  any  more  than 
he  could  get  up.  He  pulled  her  down  beside  him  and 
told  her  a  story,  though  she  looked  far  away  and  small 
and  queer. 

Harmony  fussed  over  him,  after  the  first  alarm 
being  rather  pleased  at  the  opportunity  of  playing 
nurse.  And  she  was  happy  because  it  had  been  so  long 
since  she  had  seen  the  Perfeckly  Beautiful  Joke  Line. 
He  called  her  Mustardseed  and  Peaseblossom,  just  as 
in  the  old  days  before  the  play,  in  which  he  had  been  a 
Fool.  But  he  found  it  impossible  to  let  her  read  to  him, 


248  The    Golden    Answer 

the  words  played  such  queer  tricks.  Promising  to 
"take  a  hot  bath  and  go  to  bed" — which  was  Har- 
mony's remedy — he  sent  her  away  to  bed  herself. 

After  she  had  gone  away  he  grew  very  cold,  but 
found,  on  trying,  that  he  could  not  get  up  to  mend  the 
fire.  Indeed,  he  felt  so  strange  that  he  began  to  laugh 
weakly,  and  to  wonder  what  was  going  to  happen  to 
him  next.  He  was  curious  about  it,  as  about  the  next 
step  in  his  adventure.  Ridiculously — for  he  believed 
he  was  not  a  sentimental  man — it  was  a  great  comfort 
to  have  Christina's  muff.  He  tried  to  warm  himself 
with  it.  The  fur  was  still  faintly  sweet,  like  arbutus 
on  a  cold  spring  day.  .  .  . 

Hours  later,  when  he  awoke  from  a  stupor  into 
which  he  had  fallen,  he  was  amazed  to  see  that  some- 
one was  bending  over  the  stove,  briskly  shaking  it 
down.  A  tall,  dark,  shabby  woman  with  tragic  eyes 
stood  erect  after  she  had  set  the  little  stove  roaring. 
When  she  saw  him  looking  at  her  she  came  toward  him 
and  stood  with  her  hands  on  her  hips  looking  down  at 
him. 

"For  old  times'  sake,  Fortie,"  she  said  in  a  husky  but 
resonant  voice.  "Good  God — you're  not  drunk  at 
all!" 

She  got  him  into  his  bed — which  was  the  couch  he 
was  lying  on — tenderly. 

"Kit,"  he  whispered,  grasping  at  her  old  skirt, 
"you're  not  going  to — stay?" 

"Do  you  think  I  can  forget  all  you  done  for  Har- 
mony?" she  answered. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

WHILE  he  lay  feeling  more  comfortable  and  re- 
laxed after  the  hot  broth  she  had  prepared  and  given 
him,  Kit  Farley  put  the  room  to  rights  with  energy, 
though  quietly.  She  did  not  offer  to  open  Harmony's 
door,  but  several  times  she  looked  at  it.  By  and  by 
she  came  back  and  stood  beside  Amos.  Her  dark  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  door. 

"Is  she  in  there?" 

"Do  you  mean  Harmony?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

The  woman's  hands  began  to  tremble — large,  red 
hands,  originally  not  badly  formed. 

"Yes;  is  Harmony  in  there?    Can  I  see  her?" 

"Tell  me  first  how  you  found  us,  Kit." 

"I  went  to  your  house  in  the  country,  but  you'd  gone 
away." 

"Why  did  you  go  there  ?  You've  never  broken  your 
word  before." 

"I  went  to  thank  you  for  the  money  you  sent.  I 
wanted  to  tell  you  I  was — 'respectable' — That's  why  I 
needed  it." 

"I  understood." 

"I  thought  likely,  but  I  wasn't  taking  no  risk.  I 
thought  if  you  did  understand,  maybe  I  could  see  her. 
Oh,  I  had  another  plan,  too." 

"What  was  it?" 

"Perhaps  if  you  wasn't  married  you'd  need  a  house- 
keeper. You  know  what  I  mean — hired  help.  A  man 
can't  bring  up  a — a  little  girl,  alone,  all  the  way.  I'd 

249 


250  The   Golden   Answer 

been    cutting    out    pieces    from    the    papers — The 
Mothers'   Circle/  and  The  Little  Daughters'  Club/ 

Q^  » 

She  broke  off,  but  Amos  did  not  answer.  He  had 
put  his  hand  over  his  eyes. 

"But  you'd  gone  away,"  she  resumed  after  a  pause. 
"I  thought  it  was  better  if  I  didn't  ask  people  around 
there  about  you.  It  was  a  nice  little  house  and  a  pretty 
yard.  I  suppose  Harmony  played  there." 

"Yes." 

"But  the  houses  up  the  street  were  all  big.  So  I 
didn't  ask.  I  went  away.  I've  been  working  in  the 
city.  It  wasn't  easy  to  get  a  place,  because  I  used  up  all 
my  money  coming  here  from  Chicago,  and  once  you 
get  shabby —  Well,  I'm  a  waitress  in  an  awful  joint. 
Oh,  respectable.  But  small  tips.  So  I  had  to  take  on 
other  work.  I  got  a  job  scrubbing  offices — at  night. 
That's  what's  spoiled  my  hands  already !  But  I  don't 
care,  because  I  want  to  pay  you  back  your  money.  I 
wouldn't  have  asked  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Harmony. 
Perhaps  you — don't  know  what  I  mean — by  that." 

"I  know." 

"Well,  you  would." 

"How  did  you  finally — find  us  ?" 

"I  heard  a  young  fellah  talk  about  you  when  I  was 
at  work,  and  I — and  I  asked — someone  around  there — 
where  you  was — and  they  told  me.  So  I  come  down 
here ;  but  I  saw  you  couldn't  afford  a  housekeeper  now, 
and  the  lame  old  lady  looked  awful  particular.  And  I 
saw  how  it  was  going  with  you.  That  scairt  me. 
You  didn't  know  I  took  you  home  one  night" 

"I— I'm  afraid  not."  ' 

"Then  I  found  out  that  the  old  lady  had  gone,  and 
they  told  me  downstairs  in  the  shop  where  I'm  engaged 
to  scrub  twice  a  week  that  you  must  be  sick,  the  little 


The    Golden   Answer  251 

girl  said  so.  And  Harmony  forgot  to  put  the  latch  on 
— that's  how  I  got  in." 

"Why  did  you  come,  Kit?" 

"Well,  ain't  somebody  got  to  be  here  ?" 

"I  shall  be  all  right — to-morrow." 

"Maybe.    Fortie,  why  haven't  you  ever  married  ?" 

Amos  laughed. 

"Well,  you  see,  Kit,  I — am  married." 

"Where  is  she  now?" 

"She  went  away  for — a  visit.  I — I  am  not  a  very 
good  husband,  Kit.  I  think  I  can  remember  telling  you 
once  that  I  wouldn't  be — a  good  husband." 

She  turned  away. 

She  was  about  to  speak  again  when  they  both  saw 
the  knob  of  Harmony's  door  moving.  They  watched 
it  in  sudden  breathlessless.  And  then  the  door  opened 
and  Harmony  appeared  on  the  threshold.  She  was  in 
her  thin  white  nightgown,  which  had  grown  short  for 
her  and  was  buttoned  with  babylike  lack  of  effect, 
close  about  her  neck.  Her  brown  hair  was  tumbled 
into  damp  curls,  her  eyes  were  misty.  There  were 
tears  on  her  cheeks  but  she  smiled  in  pleased  sur- 
prise. 

"Oh,  the  door  isn't  locked  to-night,"  she  said,  and 
stepped  into  the  room. 

Kit  Farley  stood  very  still,  one  hand  on  her  cheek. 
The  eyes  that  Amos  Fortune  fixed  on  Harmony's  fresh 
baby  aspect  were  anguished.  But  he  said  nothing. 

Harmony  stopped  before  the  tall  woman  and  looked 
up  at  her.  Then  she  held  out  her  hand  and,  putting  one 
bare  foot  behind  her,  made  the  little  curtsy  Christina 
had  taught  her. 

"Have  you  come  to  see  us  ?  How  do  you  do  ?"  she 
said. 

Kit  took  her  little  hand.     Harmony  thought  she 


252  The   Golden   Answer 

would  not  speak  at  all,  but  finally  a  roughened  voice 
said: 

"Did  you  have  a  bad  dream  my — dear?" 

"Yes "  Harmony  hesitated  for  a  name,  and 

then  added,  "I  did." 

"What  did  you  dream?" 

"I  thought  Christina  had  gone  away  and  was  lost, 
all  by  herself.  It  made  me  cry." 

Kit  Farley  sat  down.  Looking  around  for  a  chair 
and  seeing  none  near,  she  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed 
where  Amos  lay.  He  shivered.  She  drew  Harmony 
onto  her  lap. 

"Let  me — wipe  your  eyes." 

Harmony  laughed. 

"I  guess  they  need  it." 

Kit  reached  into  a  little  pocket  of  her  old  blouse, 
where  there  was,  neatly  folded,  an  immaculate  hand- 
kerchief. She  shook  out  the  clean  folds  and  softly 
wiped  Harmony's  cheeks  and  eyes. 

The  child  sniffed. 

"Urn.    Good!    What  is  it?" 

Kit  Farley  smiled,  trembling  with  pleasure. 

"Do  you  like  it — darling?  That's  white  rose  per- 
fumery. Nice,  ain't  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Harmony. 

She  stuck  out  her  toes  toward  the  stove  and  wriggled 
comfortably. 

"What  a  nice  fire  you  can  build,  can't  you?  I'm 
glad  you  came,  because  Amos  doesn't  feel  well,  and  I 
didn't  know  what  to  do.  Do  you  think  you  know  what 
to  do?" 

"Yes." 

Harmony  wriggled  again,  and  then,  curling  up  her 
feet,  put  her  head  down  on  Kit's  arm. 

"You  have  a  very  good  lap,"  she  said. 


The    Golden   Answer  253 

The  woman  sat  rigid  while  Harmony's  eyelids 
drooped.  Without  stirring  she  glanced  over  her 
shoulder  at  Amos,  whispering: 

"She  looks  like  you!" 

"I  know  it." 

Harmony  sat  up  suddenly. 

"Oh,  excuse  me,"  she  requested.  "I  didn't  know  my 
eyes  went  shut!" 

"Put  her  to  bed,"  Amos  exclaimed  suddenly,  "I — 
think  I'm  ill." 

In  the  morning  he  would  not  let  Kit  send  for  the 
doctor,  though  she  told  him  she  thought  he  had  a 
fever. 

"I  haven't  a  fever,"  he  said.  "It's  something  else.  I 
thought  it  would  never  happen  again — send  Harmony 
to  school,  and  please  don't  go  to  work  to-day.  There's 
something  I  want  you  to  do  for  me." 

"I  had  not  thought  of  going  to  work,"  declared  Kit. 
"You're  a  sick  man." 

She  looked  at  him  gravely.  There  was  a  bright 
flush  in  each  cheek  and  he  seemed  to  wish  to  keep  his 
eyes  shut,  but  he  was  smiling. 

When  Harmony  was  ready  to  go  he  kissed  her  and 
said : 

"Be  a  good  Mustardseed." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  sighed  Harmony.  "Some 
day  maybe  I'll  be  awful  naughty,  jes'  for  fun." 

He  laughed. 

"Terrible  Mustardseed !    How's  the  Secret  ?" 

"I'm  on  chapter  ninety-two,"  Harmony  confided. 

"Wonderful!  Do  you  write  it  in  school?  Har- 
mony!" 

"The  teacher  said  I  could !    For  English." 

"I  must  go  and  look  at  her.    She's  a  rare  person." 


254  The   Golden   Answer 

"Oh,  no,  Amos.    She's  lovely." 

"I  know  it,  dear.  That's  just  my  queer,  grown-up 
way  of  saying  so." 

Kit  Farley  stood  by  watching  and  listening.  There 
was  a  wistful,  perplexed  look  in  her  dark  eyes. 

"Good-by,  Amos,"  Harmony  threw  her  arms  around 
him  and  kissed  his  mouth.  "Now  hurry  up  and  get 
well." 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said. 

After  the  child  had  gone  Kit  saw  that  he  again 
closed  his  eyes  and  seemed  to  be  queerly  attentive,  to 
hold  something  with  that  same  slight  smile  of  absorp- 
tion. 

Finally  he  called  her  to  him. 

"Kit,"  he  said,  without  opening  his  eyes,  "how  far 
did  you  get  in  school  ?" 

She  looked  worried  and  a  little  resentful. 

"I  had  two  years  of  high  school — if  I  don't  talk 
like  it." 

"You  talk  all  right.    You  talk  like  an  angel." 

"Don't!" 

"Well,  you're  here  now — isn't  that  being  an  angel? 
Kit — can  you  get  some  paper  out  of  that  table  drawer, 
a  lot  of  paper,  and  a  pencil,  several  pencils,  and  sit 
down  here  by  me  ?" 

She  did  as  he  asked. 

"Now,  can  you  write  exactly  what  I  tell  you,  every 
word,  with  the  punctuation  marks  I  say,  and  the  spell- 
ing I  give  you  ?  Can  you  do  that  ?" 

"I  guess  so." 

She  saw  that  he  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot, 
and  put  her  hand  on  his  a  moment  to  quiet  it. 

"I'm  ready,"  he  said. 

He  began  to  dictate  with  slow  deliberateness  and 
accuracy,  one  sentence  at  a  time,  including  the  punc- 


The   Golden   Answer  255 

tuation.  Kit  Farley's  hand  toiled  over  the  paper 
awkwardly,  and  then  with  greater  ease.  At  first  she 
was  confused  and  mechanical,  but  after  an  hour  she 
changed  from  incomprehension  to  interest,  from  in- 
terest to  amazement  and  to  excitement. 

For  the  "recollected  emotion"  of  his  experience  on 
the  Bridge,  of  the  golden  ghost  of  "Avalon,"  refined  by 
the  fire,  of  his  finding  and  loving  and  losing  Christina, 
of  his  whole  life  refined  by  fire,  was  upon  him.  He 
gave  contour  to  his  emotion  in  something  that  was  to 
"Avalon"  as  the  immortal  spirit  is  to  a  lovely,  faulty 
body.  Strangely  enough,  this  was  entirely  different 
from  "Avalon,"  though  it  had  grown  out  of  it  A 
simple,  clear,  dramatic  story  of  a  soul,  who  happened 
to  be  a  woman,  but  might  have  been  anyone — man  or 
child — so  universal  was  she,  slipped  from  his  lips.  It 
was  hewn  with  bold  outlines  and  lovely  economy  out  of 
vivid  marble,  glowing  with  beauty  and  terror  and  pity 
and  love. 

No  more  was  the  beauty  with  him  only  a  flying 
moment.  It  dwelt  with  him.  His  apprenticeship  had 
been  long. 

In  the  ten  days  that  followed  he  and  Kit  Farley 
lived  in  a  strange  companionship,  for  she  worked  faith- 
fully and  lovingly  until  he  had  finished.  She  did  not 
know  the  value  of  what  she  wrote,  but  its  effect  on  her 
was  the  unconscious  evidence  of  its  value.  For  Kit 
was  filled  with  dread  and  with  anticipation.  She 
laughed.  Sometimes  rather  coarse  guffaws,  they  were. 
Sometimes  she  sneered  bitterly,  or  defiantly  murmured. 
She  wept  with  slow,  cruel,  remembered  anguish,  and 
once  she  lifted  a  pale,  passionate  face  and  smiled  at  an 
unequaled  memory. 

And  for  ten  days  the  man  on  the  bed,  growing  white 


256  The   Golden   Answer 

hourly  himself,  let  fall  his  slow,  meticulous  and  limpid 

sentences. 

When  the  last  one  was  written,  he  said : 

"Tell  Harmony  it's  finished,  she  can  make  a  noise 

now.  .  .  .  And  perhaps,  after  all,  you  had  better  send 

for  that  doctor/' 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

MORNING  sunshine  shone  into  the  upper  room  where 
Christina  and  her  aunt  sat,  brightening  the  yellow,  blue 
and  crimson  of  the  chintz  and  blazing  on  the  pot  of 
golden  tulips  in  each  window.  It  was  one  of  those 
deceptive  days  when  winter  is  not  over,  but  the  gutters 
run  with  the  water  of  a  thaw  and  the  air  smells  of  the 
earth.  Something  within  the  heart  leaps  up,  though 
the  mind  knows  spring  has  not  yet  come  and  next  week 
may  bring  a  snowstorm. 

The  suggestion  of  spring — and  the  sun  on  yellow 
chintz — made  Christina  think  of  her  room  at  home,  of 
her  "jonquil  chair,"  of  the  green  meadow  opposite  her 
windows.  .  .  . 

She  sat  at  a  desk,  making  out  a  shopping  list,  but  her 
eyes  wandered  to  the  street,  where  boys  were  playing 
a  premature  and  sanguine  game  of  ball,  in  spite  of  the 
mud.  Their  merry  calling  rose  inharmoniously  in  the 
sedate  street.  Presently  they  would  be  asked  to  move 
their  game  elsewhere.  They  were  not  inhabitants  of 
this  quarter. 

Mrs.  Hoyle  glanced  at  Christina.  She  was  knitting, 
with  twinkling  motions  of  her  thin,  elderly  hands,  a 
tiny  corn-colored  sweater  for  a  two-year-old  child  she 
had  never  seen,  daughter  of  another  niece  in  the  West. 
Lately  she  was  beginning  to  miss  grandchildren.  But 
one  cannot  have  them,  she  reflected  logically,  without 
first  having  children !  Sometimes  one  puts  things  off — 
youth  seems  so  everlasting — and  never  takes  thought 
of  the  long  future,  until  the  present  has  settled  the 
future ! 

257 


258  The   Golden   Answer 

Christina  completed  her  list  by  writing  "handker- 
chiefs, veils,  rubbers." 

"Aunt  Bertha,"  she  said,  turning  around  in  the  desk 
chair,  "how  long  have  I  been  with  you?" 

"I'm  not  rude  enough  to  count  off  each  month  on  the 
calendar,  my  dear.  You  ought  to  know." 

"But  I  don't  know — exactly.  It's  rather  a  long — 
visit,  I'm  afraid.  You  and  Uncle  Benton  must  be 
terribly  tired  of  me." 

"We  are  not  tired  of  you.  I  haven't  liked  to  speak, 
Christina.  But  now,  since  you  have — you  know  it 
need  not  be — a  visit." 

''Yes,  I  know  what  you  mean.  You  mean — I 
needn't  go  back,  as  far  as  you  and  Uncle  Benton  are 
concerned.  It  is  very  dear  of  you  to  want  me — to 
stay." 

Mrs.  Hoyle  increased  the  speed  of  her  knitting, 
dropped  a  stitch,  and  was  at  irritated  pains  to  pick  it 
up.  Christina  folded  her  arms  on  the  slender  chair 
back,  and  gazed  out  of  the  window. 

"Aunt  Bertha,  I  suppose  most  people  would  find  it 
impossible  to  believe  this — but  really  and  truly — all 
these  months,  almost  a  year,  I  haven't  been  a  bit 
definite  with  myself.  I  have  felt  all  the  time  as  if  I 
ivere  on  a  visit.  That  no  convenient  time  had  come — 
for  going  back.  I — I  haven't — 'left'  Amos.  When  I 
came  away,  I  didn't  intend  to  'leave'  him.  Things  just 
developed  .  .  .  without  me,  after  they  once  got 
started." 

"No,  you  haven't  left  Amos  Fortune,  yet." 

Christina  looked  keenly  at  her  aunt,  and  dropped 
her  eyes  to  her  own  pretty  hands,  idle,  now  that  the  list 
was  finished.  She  disliked  all  mechanical  work.  She 
twisted  her  narrow  platinum  wedding  ring,  and  looked 


The   Golden   Answer  259 

into  the  golden  heart  of  the  single  large  topaz  that  was 
the  jewel  of  her  engagement  ring. 

"I  must  be  a  strange  person,"  was  her  next  remark. 
"I  suppose  everybody  else  knows  exactly  where  they 
are  going — all  the  time." 

Mrs.  Hoyle  became  philosophical  rarely.  But  now 
she  said : 

"Some  people  are  opportunists.  I  believe  there  have 
been  very  great  ones.  There  are  two  kinds  of  oppor- 
tunists—depending on  the  direction  they  take.  One 
seizes  an  opportunity  to  go  forward,  the  other  to  go 
backward." 

"I  suppose,"  her  niece  said  slowly,  letting  the  topaz 
glint  in  the  sun,  which  in  turn  had  flashed  upon  the 
yellow  tulips,  "that  the  definition  of  'forward'  and 
'backward'  might  depend  upon  several  things — the 
point  of  view,  for  one." 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course." 

There  was  a  silence  now,  in  the  cheerful  room,  the 
room  of  women  of  leisure  who  can  find  time  to  discuss 
their  personal  destiny  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

"I  think,"  Christina  seemed  to  begin  again,  "that  the 
world  is  arranged  very  queerly.  You  never  know,  do 
you,  Aunt  Bertha,  what  you  are  doing?  I  mean — well 
— the  significance  of  what  you  are  doing.  It  seems  as 
if  there  ought  to  be  some  kind  of  guide  posts !  Why,  I 
know  a  woman,  in  Qiicago,  who  had  tickets  for  a 
matinee  for  herself  and  three  friends — they  played 
cards  together  each  week  and  sometimes  went  to  a 
matinee — and  they  thought  children  would  enjoy  this 
play  more,  and  at  the  last  minute  she  gave  the  tickets 
to  her  only  daughter  so  that  she  could  take  her  three 
little  girls.  And  the  theater  burned,  you  know,  and 
they  never  got  out!  That — was  a  generous  impulse, 
too." 


260  The   Golden  Answer 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Hoyle  commented  dryly.  "You  are 
very  young,  my  dear,  if  you  think  virtue  is  rewarded, 
and  sin — or  mistakes — punished,  always." 

"It  seems  a  pity  one  can't  tell — what  is  important." 

"Now  you  have  put  your  finger  on  something  that 
is  important.  I've  had  an  eventful  time  coming 
through  to  sixty-one  next  birthday,  and  I'm  not  wise 
or  generous,  but  I've  learned  one  thing.  You  won't 
learn  it,  though,  till  it's  rubbed  in;  nobody  does.  A 
sense  of  proportion  is  the  most  useful  thing  in  life.  I 
advise  you  to  go  out  and  get  yourself  one." 

Mrs.  Hoyle  began  to  knit  down  an  absurdly  small 
sleeve  and  counted  her  stitches  aloud.  It  did  not  take 
many  to  measure  the  length  of  a  fat,  two-year-old  arm. 
When  she  finished  she  looked  again  at  her  niece's  pro- 
file, turned  toward  the  sun.  She  had  no  intention  of 
advising  her ;  she  had  no  intention  of  being  generous. 
Christina  should  decide  as  she  pleased,  and  who  should 
say  whether  Bertha  Hoyle  or  Amos  Fortune  had  a 
better  right  to  profit  by  her  decision?  Neither  one  of 
them  was  a  plaster  saint.  She  had  clear  insight,  but 
no  thirst  for  abstract  justice.  And,  as  she  had  told 
her  niece  only  the  other  day,  one  of  the  compensations 
of  old  age  was  that  one  didn't  have  to  consider  any- 
body! 

"Amos  said  the  same  thing  to  me  once,"  Christina 
answered  after  the  counting  had  ceased.  "About  hav- 
ing a  sense  of  proportion." 

"Very  likely.  .  .  .  There,  I'm  glad  somebody  is 
sending  those  boys  away.  This  street  is  no  place  for 
them.  .  .  .  And  I'll  tell  you  something  he's  never  told 
you:  You  are  fundamentally  good,  Christina,  but 
you're  easy-going  and  lazy-minded.  And  you  are  the 
most  discreet  person  I  know." 


The    Golden   Answer  261 

"He  called  me  the— Discreet  Princess."  She  said  it 
slowly,  and  smiled. 

Mrs.  Hoyle  did  not  reply.  And  suddenly  Christina 
jumped  up. 

"It's  late.  Shall  I  get  your  veils  like  mine  ?  And  a 
dozen  initialed  handkerchiefs  ?" 

"Yes,  and  two  papers  of  pins,"  said  Mrs.  Hoyle. 

Christina  came  back  with  her  hat  and  suit  coat  on, 
fastening  her  dark  furs. 

"I  didn't  tell  you,  Aunt  Bertha,"  she  said  from  the 
doorway ;  "last  month  when  we  had  that  wait  in  New 
York — I  went  to  see  Amos,  while  you  rested  at  the 
hotel.  I — think  he's  lonely." 

"Why  don't  you  take  your  muff?  It  isn't  spring," 
was  Mrs.  Hoyle's  answer. 

But  Christina  had  vanished. 

She  had  enough  of  that  useful  and  valuable  sense  of 
proportion  to  know  that  for  her  to  say  only — after 
what  she  had  seen  that  evening  in  Amos  Fortune's 
rooms — that  he  was  lonely,  was  ridiculous.  For  after 
leaving  him  that  night — and  she  constantly  reminded 
herself  that  he  had  seemed  to  want  her  to  go — she  had 
known  what  she  had  done  to  him.  Oh,  it  all  might  be 
indirect  and  complicated,  but  she  had  done  it.  She  had 
made  him  burn  his  book.  An  unaccustomed  pain 
washed  over  her  at  the  memory.  She  felt  sudden  and 
utter  loneliness.  .  .  .  What  was  Amos  doing,  this 
morning  ? 

It  was  true,  too,  that  all  these  months  she  had  never 
been  definite  with  herself, 'had  drifted,  without  even 
acknowledging  that  there  was  a  reason  for  her  to  find 
out  where  she  was  going.  She  had  not  consciously 
thought  things  out.  But  a  queer  thing  had  been  hap- 
pening within  her  all  the  time.  Now  that  she  had  been 


262  The    Golden   Answer 

shocked  into  taking  account  of  herself,  she  found  that 
somehow  she  must  have  been  dwelling  on  unaccus- 
tomed matters  without  knowing  it;  there  was  more 
than  there  had  been,  to  take  account  of.  Although 
Christina  had  heard  that  she  possessed  a  subconscious 
mind,  she  knew  but  little  of  its  processes.  She  did  not 
know  that  without  her  own  effort  or  knowledge  there 
really  might  have  been  a  development  of  thought  in 
that  veiled  and  secret  place  of  the  "soul."  She  merely 
felt  surprise  that  she  should  find  certain  matters 
shaping  with  astonishing  aspects.  And  she  was  deeply 
troubled. 

There  were  outer  things  to  trouble  her  as  well  as 
inner.  As  she  bought  handkerchiefs,  veils  and  rubbers, 
this  wet,  breezy  morning  that  seemed  painfully  like 
spring  but  was  not  spring,  she  remembered — she  really 
had  never  forgotten  for  a  moment — that  she  would  see 
Philip  Dana  in  the  evening  at  a  small  dance.  Would 
Edith  be  there,  too? 

Edith  Dana  was  uglier  than  ever  lately,  her  eyes 
more  beautiful.  She  had  begun  to  stay  at  home,  to 
encourage  Philip  to  go  out  alone.  Poor  Edith !  Chris- 
tina reflected  that  it  was  hard  lines  to  be  unhappy 
twice.  Of  course  one  did  not  in  decency  commit  the 
absurdity  of  a  third  venture;  therefore  Edith  had 
nothing  to  look  forward  to.  Christina  did  not  like  the 
idea  of  looking  forward  to  nothing.  How  terrible! 
.  .  .  Would  Edith  be  at  the  dance? 

She  bought  a  daffodil-colored  scarf  to  wear  that 
evening. 

Edith  Dana  was  not  at  the  dance;  but  Philip  came 
without  her,  not  offering  an  explanation  of  her  absence 
as  far  as  Christina  knew.  They  danced  many  times  to- 
gether in  an  unusual  silence.  Philip  seemed  to  have 
something  on  his  mind. 


The    Golden   Answer  263 

Christina  stole  glances  at  him,  and  knew  again, 
honestly,  that  his  physical  beauty  was  the  source  of 
much  of  his  attraction  for  her.  She  had  always  loved 
to  trace  with  her  eyes  the  perfect  line  of  his  nose,  than 
which  it  would  have  been  hard  to  find  a  handsomer, 
and  the  pair  of  black  eyebrows  that  seemed  endowed 
with  a  magical  amount  of  expressiveness.  To-night 
they  were  slightly  drawn  together,  slightly  lifted.  She 
,  wondered  what  this  somber  and  yet  unexpected  wist- 
fulness  could  mean.  It  was  a  new  expression. 

He  drew  her,  as  soon  as  he  could,  into  a  small  room 
which  they  might  have  for  a  few  minutes  to  them- 
selves. It  was  a  vivid  room  with  white  walls,  black 
furniture  and  crimson  hangings.  A  fire  burned  in  the 
grate,  but  Philip  put  her  scarf  around  her. 

"I've  never  seen  you  in  that  green  dress  before,"  he 
said  suddenly.  "It's  the  color  of  those  long,  slim 
daffodil  stems — silvery  green." 

"It  isn't  new,"  Christina  replied  in  a  matter  of  fact 
voice.  "It's  dyed.  I'm  poor  these  days,  you  know.  I 
shouldn't  have  bought  this  scarf.  Do  you  like  it?" 

"It's  perfect.  Like  spring — but  I  suppose  you 
bought  it  because  of  that." 

"Well,  perhaps  unconsciously  on  purpose.  I  didn't 
think  till  afterward.  Do  you  ever  do  things  that 
way?" 

"That's  too  much  for  me.  Don't  try  to  be  high- 
brow, my  dear." 

She  laughed.    "What's  the  matter,  Philip?" 

He  was  smoking  rapidly,  as  he  stood  leaning  against 
the  wall.  All  his  motions  were  quick  and  jerky,  and 
his  eyes  were  unhappy.  Why  were  so  many  people  in 
tangles,  she  thought. 

"I  intended  to  tell  you  here — but  somebody'll  gal- 
lop in.  Let  me  take  you  home.  You  can  find  a 


264  The    Golden   Answer 

place  where  we  can  be  alone  there,  can't  you?  Will 
you?" 

"Yes — I  could,"  she  said  slowly;  "but  I'm  not  sure 
that  I  want  to  go  home,  now — or  that  I  want  to  find  a 
place — where  we  can  be  alone." 

"Yes,  you  do;  you  will — want  to.  I've  got  some- 
thing to  tell  you.  You'll  want  to  hear  it." 

"Tell  me  here." 

"I  can't.    You'll  see  why.    Let  me  take  you  home." 

He  stood  above  her  looking  down — a  tall,  slim,  black 
and  white  figure  with  its  rather  narrow,  colorless, 
handsome  face  and  black  hair  and  eyes,  a  marked, 
emphatic,  sharply  defined  presence  in  the  eccentric 
room. 

Christina  closed  her  eyes.  Her  thoughts  began  to 
whirl.  Dimly  she  had  a  sense  of  resentment  against 
material  things  that  seemed  in  a  conspiracy.  Even  this 
room  conspired  against  her ! 

The  scene  in  the  garden,  before  her  fairy  play,  rose 
in  her  mind's  eye :  the  same  face  with  how  different  a 
look!  He  had  been  satirical  then,  now,  now  he  was 
eager!  If  he  had  been  eager  then 

She  did  not  dare  open  her  eyes.  Yes,  perhaps  it 
would  be  better  to  let  him  take  her  home.  She  would 
select  for  their  interview  her  uncle's  shabby  study, 
where  the  furniture  was  drab,  a  mixture  of  odd,  cast- 
off  pieces  rescued  by  him  from  oblivion.  When  she 
did  open  her  eyes  Philip  was  leaning  very  near  her. 
She  looked  up  at  him  and  could  not  look  away;  then: 

"Let's — go,"  she  murmured,  with  a  catch  of  her 
breath.  "I'm  quite  ready." 

In  Uncle  Benton's  study  there  was  nothing  start- 
lingly  black  and  white  and  red,  as  a  background,  and 
the  only  light  came  from  an  antiquated  gas  "mantel" 
with  a  garish  white  globe.  The  room  was  little  used 


The  Golden  Answer  265 

and  frankly  ugly.    Also,  it  was  chilly;  there  was  no 
fireplace. 

Christina  kept  her  evening  coat  about  her;  there  was 
no  settling  down  into  intimacy.  But — she  had  let  him 
come.  That  fact  was  indicative.  She  sat  down  at 
Uncle  Benton's  desk  and  Dana  stood  before  her,  as  if 
they  were  having  a  business  interview.  His  words 
were  remote  from  business,  and  yet  there  seemed  to 
hang  about  them  something  distinctly  savoring  of  the 
practical,  combined  oddly  with  passion.  He  began  in 
his  low,  quick  voice: 

"Of  course  you  had  a  reason  for  pulling  out  when 
you  did,  for  leaving  Fortune.  But  I've  never  known 
whether  it  was  a — useful  reason." 

"Useful?" 

"Don't  pretend  unsophistication.  Naturally,  I  mean 
divorce." 

"But  I  haven't  referred  to  it,"  said  Christina  slowly. 

He  ignored  that,  and  took  a  turn  up  and  down  Uncle 
Benton's  study. 

"Do  you  know  where  he  is  now?" 

"Amos?    Yes,  I  know — where — he  is." 

"Do  you  know  who  is  with  him?" 

"Harmony " 

"And  somebody  else." 

"Somebody " 

"A  woman,  who  has  been  rather  well  known  in 
her  time,  is  with  him." 

"I  don't  believe  it" 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  know  Amos,  and  he  wouldn't  have- 
ner— there  with  Harmony !" 

Dana  laughed.  "I  have  the  proof  that  he  and  Kit 
Farley  are  together  at  thirteen  Jane  Street  in  New 


266  The   Golden  Answer 

York,  and  that  they  are  not  by  any  means  newly  ac- 
quainted.   That's  enough,  isn't  it?" 

"Please  stop,  Philip,  you  talk  so  fast !" 

He  sat  down  in  an  old  leather  chair  which  was  cold 
and  slippery,  and  watched  Christina,  who  had  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands. 

She  thought:  "Was  she  there  when  I  went  to  Jane 
Street?  He  wanted  me  to  leave.  He  asked  me  to  go 
quickly.  Was  she  there  with  him  then?" 

Humiliation  was  her  first  emotion.  After  that  came 
rising  anger,  and  a  new  pain  of  which  she  did  not  know 
the  name.  Philip  Dana  began  to  talk  again,  seeming 
to  try  to  speak  slowly  because  she  wanted  him  to: 

"I've  been  a  fool.  I  saw  you — playing  with  every 
man,  and  I  vowed  you  should  not  play  with  me.  I 
thought  I'd  be — smart,  and  get  away.  .  .  .  Well,  I 
went  away." 

"Yes,"  she  said  in  a  dazed  voice,  "you  went  away, 
Philip." 

"I've  been  devilishly  unhappy." 

She  almost  smiled  over  his  grieved  surprise  at  his 
unhappiness.  What  babies  men  were. 

"That's  too  bad,"  she  answered  in  such  a  strange 
tone  that  he  stared  at  her.  "I  imagine — Edith  is  un- 
happy, too;  and  there's  me,  and  there's — Amos.  Oh, 
what  a  fairy  play  it  was,  wasn't  it?  A  fairy  play  for 
which  I  needed  a  Fool !" 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,"  he  said 
stiffly. 

"I  think  I'm  the  one  to  say  that  to  you.  Why  are 
you  telling  me  all  this  now,  Philip  ?" 

He  came  close  to  her. 

"Edith  is  miserable — she  wants  to  be  free.  It's  all 
my  fault.  Christina,  it's  been  always  you — you — 
you!" 


TKe  Golden  Answer  267 

"Don't!    Philip,  stop!" 

She  remembered  that  summer  when  he  had  left  her 
in  the  garden.  This  was  indeed  a  late  return.  But,  only 
an  hour  ago  she  had  thrilled  when  he  came  near  her. 
What  had  happened  in  the  interval  ? 

"I  won't  stop!"  he  answered,  and  cruelly,  because 
he  was  the  stronger,  kissed  her.  She  had  not  believed 
he  meant  it,  by  the  river.  There  was  no  doubt  of  it 
now. 

She  began  to  cry  miserably. 

"I  wish  you  would  go  away!  Can't  you  see — that 
you're  too  late?  You're  never — in  the  right  place — at 
the  right  time,  Philip.  I'm  sorry  for  my  part— of 
this." 

"Do  you  mean  it?" 

"Yes;  and  I  think  it  would  be  rather — decent  of 
you — to  try  to  make  Edith  happier." 

"Don't  moralize,"  he  said  harshly.  "It  doesn't 
sound  well,  from  you." 

"No— I  know  it.    Good-by,  Philip." 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  arms  on  Uncle  Benton's 
desk,  and  Dana  left  her  there. 

Christina  was  roused,  after  a  long  time,  by  a  clock 
striking  two.  She  rose,  gathered  her  coat  about  her 
and  dragged  herself  up  the  stairs,  the  daffodil  scarf 
trailing  like  a  lost  sunbeam  after  her. 

Once  in  her  room  she  opened  the  window  and 
stepped  out  onto  a  little  balcony,  to  let  the  cool,  soft 
night  wind  stir  her  hair.  Leaning  against  the  railing, 
she  took  deep  breaths  of  the  damp  balminess,  still 
subtly  springlike.  She  felt  weak,  bewildered,  lost. 
She  had  been  crying  a  long  time,  down  there  in  Uncle 
Benton's  queer  study — tears  were  not  frequent  with 
her — but  this  weeping  had  left  her  no  sense  of  relief 


268  The   Golden   Answer: 

or  comfort,  only  a  dull,  desperate  realization  that  tears 
would  do  no  good. 

She  had  passed  through  humiliation  and  anger  into 
jealousy — a  wild  state,  in  which  she  was  divided  be- 
tween the  desire  to  leave  Amos  forever  and  a  longing 
to  rush  back  and  turn  the  woman  who  was  with  him 
out.  She  felt  superior  and  injured,  yet  was  stabbed 
with  the  thought  of  his  ever  having  loved  Kit  Farley. 
She  could  do  what  she  had  done  to  Amos,  and  yet  feel 
that  if  he  smiled  at  Kit  it  would  kill  her.  Christina's 
sense  of  "mine"  was  highly  developed. 

As  she  stood  on  the  little  balcony  above  the  small 
dark  garden  where  in  a  few  weeks  immortal  crocuses 
would  prick  through  the  mud,  a  distant  chime  began 
to  ring  over  all  the  city.  It  was  a  quaint  and  ancient 
tune  which  Christina  had  first  heard  in  Holland,  drop- 
ping down  from  an  abbey  tower  over  a  cobbled  square ; 
it  seemed  to  trip  a  dance  woodenly,  like  sabots  clatter- 
ing to  a  queer  measure.  And  as  it  died  away,  the  echo 
returned  it  for  a  moment  with  an  almost  elfish  kick. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  standing  there  with  a 
heavy  heart,  Christina  knew  thankfulness  for  the 
lovely  and  delightful  that  exist  for  their  own  sake  only, 
in  the  midst  of  sin,  trouble  and  death;  and  in  that 
thought,  had  she  known  it,  she  came  nearer  to  Amos 
than  she  had  ever  been  before. 

And  she  was  nearer  him  to-night  for  another  reason: 
Throughout  the  wildness  of  her  jealousy  and  anger, 
her  tears  had  been  for  something  else  than  that.  In- 
deed it  was  only  when  her  anger  had  burned  out  that 
they  had  come,  and  could  not  bring  relief.  For  she 
had  wept  for  what  she  had  done  to  Amos,  not  for  what 
he  had  done  to  her.  She  had  known  ever  since  she  had 
seen  his  face  bending  over  the  red-hot  stove  that  night 
on  Jane  street  that  she  had  made  him  burn  the  thing 


The   Golden   Answer  269 

he  had  labored  for  and  loved  so  long.  And  now  she 
knew  that  if  Kit  Farley  was  with  him,  and  was  the 
wrong  woman  to  be  with  him,  that,  too,  was  her  fault. 
She  had  left  him  alone  to  take  what  comfort  he  could. 
And  the  thing  she  was  most  certain  about  of  all  others 
was  that  if  Kit  were  there  in  her  place,  then  Amos 
loved  Kit.  And  she  had,  by  her  own  fault,  lost  him. 

The  thought,  glaring  like  a  searchlight,  illuminated 
many  others.  It  was  agony  to  look  at  them,  but  look 
she  must. 

She  saw  her  departure  for  a  visit  as  the  pretense  that 
it  was.  Truly,  it  had  not  been  "leaving"  Amos,  but  it 
had  been  a  refusal  to  meet  his  crisis  with  him,  an  easy 
stepping  aside  from  a  difficulty,  the  disinclination  to 
take  a  risk,  or  pay  a  price,  a  lack  of  prodigality  with 
her  love.  And  its  significance  had  increased  one  hun- 
dredfold with  every  month  of  her  absence. 

Christina  knew  how  Amos  despised  this  lack  of 
prodigality  with  love,  and  life — "wind  flung  prodi- 
gality" he  had  called  it  once,  and  she  had  laughed  and 
changed  the  subject.  She  had  thought  then  that  he 
must  mean  something  savoring  of  a  romantic  gesture 
in  a  crisis.  She  wondered  now  if  he  had  not  meant  to 
include  little  things,  too.  (There  was  the  old  diffi- 
culty: How  could  you  tell  when  little  things  would  turn 
out  to  have  been  big?)  And,  far  from  a  romantic 
gesture,  she  questioned  if  he  had  not  meant  the  utter 
simplicity  of  full  giving. 

The  accumulation  of  little  things  in  which  she  had 
been  meager  with  her  love  thus  made  an  appalling 
total,  when  viewed  from  the  little  balcony  after  the 
chime  had  offered  its  lovely,  measured  encouragement 
to  mortals,  seeming  to  say,  "Listen,  /  can  still  dance, 
gravely,  stiffly,  to  be  sure,  because  of  my  age  and  my 
wooden  shoes  and  all  that — I  have  seen  five  hundred 


270  The   Golden   Answer 

springs  with  love  and  death  in  each.  But  I  dance  not 
without  grace,  eh  ?  One,  two,  three,  four,  and  a  kick !" 

Christina  used  the  word  "love"  with  no  hesitation. 
She  knew  she  had  loved  Amos  Fortune  from  the 
moment  when,  long  ago,  he  had  shielded  her  from  a 
betrayal  of  her  own  infatuation.  Then  she  did  not 
know,  but  now  she  knew.  Her  marriage,  which  when 
she  herself  had  first  contemplated  it,  she  had  planned 
as  a  "marriage  of  spite"  had  been  a  marriage  of  love, 
after  all.  There  was  no  doubt  about  the  first  few 
months  of  her  yielding,  against  her  will  and  yet  in  spite 
of  herself.  The  test  was  time.  Very  well,  let  the  test 
be  applied.  It  had  seemed  to  fail,  but  now  she  knew 
that  time  had  proved  the  truth. 

"What  a  strange  way,"  said  Christina  aloud,  "I  have 
taken  to  prove  my  love." 

But  there  were  two  questions  which,  even  after  she 
had  crept  to  bed  in  miserable  exhaustion,  she  had  not 
decided:  Could  she,  after  all,  be  the  wife  of  a  man 
like  Amos — a  failure?  If  she  had  been  the  wrong 
woman  for  him  to  marry,  had  been  in  part  the  cause  of 
his  failure,  would  she  not  make  things  even  worse,  and, 
through  loving  him,  harm  him  even  more,  by  going 
back? 

And  the  other  question  was:  Would  he  take  her 
back? 

True  to  form,  Christina,  who  had  not  dared  to  stay, 
was  questioning  the  discretion  of  going  back. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

HILDA  MARTIN  had  the  strange  idea  that  if  she  could 
once  do  something  for  Amos,  she  could  forget  him, 
would  —  as  Charles  Brent  had  phrased  it  —  "come 
through."  Perhaps  the  idea  would  not  have  been  con- 
sidered so  strange  by  a  psychologist.  At  any  rate,  she 
thought  about  it  a  long  time,  and  resolved  upon  an 
eccentric  journey. 

One  night,  after  her  mother  had  almost  completely 
recovered,  Hilda  took  a  late  train  for  Boston.  Lying 
sleepless  in  her  berth  she  wondered  how  she  had  the 
audacity  to  do  what  she  had  planned.  Although  she 
could  not  sleep  she  was  filled  with  a  wide  peace  that 
told  her  the  instinct  which  prompted  her  was  a  right 
one.  While  she  traveled  in  the  service  of  Amos  For- 
tune her  mind  forsook  him  and  pictured  the  return  of 
Charles  Brent.  .  .  . 

In  the  morning — a  pale,  brilliant  April  morning, 
early — Hilda,  by  the  aid  of  several  policemen  and  a 
taxi  driver,  found  the  house  for  which  she  searched. 
The  name  of  Hoyle  was  on  the  door.  She  stood 
several  minutes  looking  up  at  the  self-contained,  hard- 
featured  residence  which  sheltered  the  wife  of  Amos 
Fortune.  And  she  smiled  with  some  happiness  and 
considerable  humor.  If  he  ever  knew — but  he  would 
not  know ! — Amos  would  rage  at  this.  And  Christina  ? 
Hilda  wondered  how  she  would  take  it.  For  she  in- 
tended to  tell  Christina  just  how  much  Amos  needed 
her;  and  bring  her  back! 

With  a  long  breath  Hilda  ran  up  the  steps  and  rang 
the  bell. 

271 


272  The   Golden   Answer 

Five  minutes  later  she  was  descending  them,  puz- 
zled, disappointed,  hopeful,  all  in  one.  For  she  had 
been  told  by  a  neat  servant  that  Mrs.  Fortune  was  out 
of  town. 

What  did  it  mean?  Was  Christina  so  indifferent  as 
to  be  traveling  for  pleasure,  now  ?  Or  had  she,  of  her 
own  volition,  gone  back  to  New  York?  Had  they 
passed  on  the  night  journey,  each  thinking  of  the 
same  man? 

She  felt  baffled,  and,  in  a  forlorn  way,  bruised.  Fate 
was  determined,  then,  that  she  could  do  nothing  for 
Amos.  She  marveled  over  that  truth  that  all  but  the 
heaven-blessed  discover:  we  are  surrounded  by  in- 
significant and  meaningless  contacts,  many  of  us  fated 
to  daily  intercourse  that  might  be  supremely  lovely 
if  someone  else  were  to  take  the  place  of  the  person 
nearest.  This  sort  of  thing  can  be  the  masterpiece 
of  Tantalus.  Hilda  knew,  for  example,  that  it  would 
be  made  perfectly  easy  for  her  to  be  of  service  to  True- 
bee  Lark,  or  to  Miss  Blinn!  And  she  had  had  the 
bitter  privilege  of  carrying  up  meals  to  a  sick  lodger, 
when  she  knew  that  Amos  was  ill  and  alone. 

But  the  fact  that  she  had  tried  to  bring  Christina 
back  to  him,  that  she  had  worn  herself  out  trying, 
brought  its  own  relief.  The  peace  that  she  had  felt 
during  the  long  wakeful  night  came  back.  And  by  the 
time  she  had  lain  down  to  rest  in  a  hotel  room,  and 
slept  a  little,  it  almost  seemed  as  if,  by  her  intention, 
she  actually  had  helped  him.  She  felt  released;  she 
had  "come  through."  And  she  began  to  think  how 
wonderful  it  was  going  to  be  to  feel  nothing  but 
friendship  for  Amos  Fortune.  What  a  happy  friend- 
ship they  could  have !  When  she  arose,  refreshed,  and 
went  to  take  the  afternoon  train  back  to  New  York,  she 
had  begun  to  think  again  of  the  steadying  quality  in 


The   Golden  Answer  273 

stalwart  Charles  Brent.  She  figured  out  what  time  it 
was  in  China,  and  decided  that,  while  she  was  finding 
her  way  among  crooked  streets  to  the  South  Station, 
he  was  in  bed  and  asleep.  The  thought  crossed  her 
mind  of  what  she  might  say  if  she  wrote  him  to  come 
back. 

When  Hilda  reached  home,  late  that  night,  unspeak- 
ably weary,  she  found  that  her  mother  had  left  the 
light  on  in  the  hall  and  also  in  the  parlor,  but  had  gone 
to  bed  herself.  She  knew  that  her  mother  was  in  bed, 
for  otherwise  she  would  have  been  at  the  door.  She 
was  glad  to  have  her  resting — but  she  especially  hated 
not  being  greeted  at  the  door. 

Setting  down  her  bag,  she  went  into  the  parlor  to 
turn  out  the  light,  and  on  the  threshold  stopped,  with 
the  idea  that  she  was  dreaming.  For  who  was  the  tall, 
fair,  sunburned  man  who  stood  before  her?  It 
couldn't  be  C.  M.,  for  he  was  in  China ! 

"Oh,  no,"  she  argued  faintly,  "you're  in  China." 

His  big  laugh  came  then,  subdued  with  character- 
istic thoughtfulness. 

"I've  come  back,"  said  Charles  Brent.  "I  didn't 
wait  to  be  sent  for.  Thought  about  now — maybe — 
you'd  want  me !  Don't  you  think  you  can — try  to  want 
me— Hilda?" 

Her  lip  began  to  tremble.  She  was  very  tired.  She 
could  not  speak. 

C.  M.  took  her  in  his  arms. 

"You  put  your  head  where  it  belongs,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

AMOS  would  not  let  Kit  Farley  write  to  Christina 
that  he  was  ill.  Why  should  she  be  told  ?  He  might 
never  sec  her  again.  It  seemed  to  him  ridiculous,  any- 
way, to  be  unable  to  get  up  when  there  was  nothing 
tangible  the  matter,  like  tonsilitis  or  typhoid  fever ;  and 
the  very  vagueness  worried  him.  The  doctor  whom 
Kit  had  sent  for,  after  those  ten  days  of  dictation, 
had  spoken  of  nervous  exhaustion  and  a  complete  rest. 
The  body  could  be  rested,  no  doubt,  by  Staying  in  bed, 
but  the  taut  nerves  were  tortured  by  the  necessity  of 
getting  up  and  going  to  work.  Kit  told  him,  briefly, 
not  to  worry;  she  would  go  on  scrubbing,  and  that 
would  keep  them  for  a  time !  Indeed,  she  still  had  that 
convenient  job  of  cleaning  the  shop  in  the  basement  of 
Miss  Lark's  house.  And  when  Miss  Lark  herself  came 
home  she  climbed  to  the  top  floor  to  tell  him  not  to 
think  about  the  rent. 

Zinnia  made  no  comment  on  Kit  Farley's  presence 
and  asked  no  questions.  She  had  "her  hands  full" 
taking  care  of  Truebee,  and  moreover  something — pos- 
sibly she  would  have  said  it  was  telling  time  without  a 
clock — had  given  her  a  fine  tolerance.  She  had  seen 
strange  meetings  in  Jane  Street,  as  she  had  told  Amos 
Fortune,  and  if  this  were  one  of  them,  it  was  not  her 
affair.  Truebee  was  her  affair. 

For  Truebee  Lark,  perforce,  had  come  to  the  city,  at 
last,  to  stay.  And  nothing  would  blossom  that  year  in 
Jane  Street,  except  Harmony.  Zinnia  had  been  willing 
to  make  hers  the  sacrifice,  and  live  with  her  brother 

274 


The  Golden  Answer  275 

over  beyond  the  marsh,  but  that  had  been  impossible. 
For  Truebee,  owing  to  his  increasing  queeraess,  after 
that  last  luxuriant  summer  when  he  had  given  away 
his  glowing  blossoms  prodigally,  had  "failed."  His 
greenhouses  were  taken  for  the  mortgage  on  them,  and 
his  own  silvery  cottage  had  been  sold.  Now  he  sat  at 
a  window  all  day  long,  and  hummed  a  tune  for  which 
he  could  not  remember  the  words.  Amos  hated  to 
think  of  him  there.  He  could  sometimes  hear  the 
humming  in  the  room  below  him,  when  the  street  was 
quiet.  It  sounded  like  a  large  and  despondent  bee,  and 
was  another  reason  why  he  could  not  rest. 

One  rainy  night  Kit  put  Harmony  to  bed,  as  she 
did  always  now,  and  after  giving  Amos  a  drink  of 
water,  started  out  to  work. 

He  smiled  at  her  as  she  took  the  glass  from  him. 

"What  an  awfully  decent,  dear  old  girl !"  he  said. 

She  did  not  reply. 

"Kit,"  he  called  as  she  went  toward  the  door,  "you 
know  I'll  never  forget  this,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  from  the  threshold,  "that's 
why  I'm  here,  ain't  it — because  you  don't  forget 
things?" 

With  that  she  went  out  and  shut  the  door,  and  he 
heard  her  walk  heavily  down  the  stairs,  and  then  the 
front  door  close.  She  was  out  in  the  wet  night.  He 
thought  of  her  tall,  straight  figure  slopping  along  the 
sidewalk  in  old  shoes,  of  how  her  dark  eyes  must  peer 
out  from  under  her  dripping  hat.  He  hoped  she  did 
not  talk  to  herself  as  she  walked,  she  had  not  come  yet 
to  that !  And  this  was  another  reason  why  he  could 
not  rest 

Harmony  called  from  the  room  to  him: 

"I'm  not  asleep  yet,  Amos,  are  you?" 

"No." 


276  The   Golden   Answer 

"Doesn't  it  just  pour  and  pour  on  the  roof  ?  Do  you 
like  it?" 

"Not  very  much." 

"Oh,  I  do ;  it  makes  me  think  of  nice  things." 

"What  things?" 

"Oh — afternoons  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  and  the 
lilac  bush  was  all  wet,  and  smelled  sweet." 

He  smiled  with  the  thought  that  Harmony  was  the 
ultimate  satisfaction. 

"Do  you  want  me  to  come  out  there  and  kiss  you?" 
inquired  Harmony. 

"Yes." 

She  seemed  taller  than  she  had  been  even  last  week, 
standing  beside  him  in  her  pale,  coral-pink  kimona. 
Her  hair,  which  was  now  allowed  to  grow  long,  hung 
on  each  side  of  the  slim  oval  of  her  face.  Her  young 
throat  was  babyish. 

"Slippers?" 

"It  isn't  a  bit  cold." 

She  laid  her  cheek,  soft  as  pussy  willow,  against 
his. 

"I'll  take  care  of  you  forever  and  ever,  world  with- 
out end,"  said  Harmony.  "When  you  get  well,  let's  go 
away  and  have  a  lilac  bush  again  by  ourselves." 

"Perhaps  we  can  some  day." 

She  poked  her  finger  in  his  cheek. 

"You  know,  Amos,  I  like  the  people  who  come  and 
live  with  us — from  time  to  time, — but  we  belong  just 
to  each  other,  don't  we?" 

"I  think  we  do." 

She  made  him  laugh  by  her  emphatic  reply. 

"I  can  tell  you  what,  I'm  glad  of  it!" 

She  kissed  him  with  equal  emphasis,  and  running 
with  white,  swift  feet  leaped  into  bed. 

It  continued  to  pour  monotonously  after  Harmony 


The   Golden   Answer  277 

had  fallen  asleep,  as  if  all  the  waters  over  the  earth 
were  descending.  Above  the  ground  thunder  of  the 
downpour  was  the  loud  splashing  of  the  tin  gutter  just 
outside  his  window.  He  shut  his  eyes  and  tried  not 
to  think,  but  pictures  thronged  under  the  lids.  Most 
of  all  he  tried  not  to  think  of  the  book,  for  when  he 
did  he  became  confused  between  that  which  was  burnt 
and  that  which  was  complete  in  Kit  Farley's  penciled 
scrawl,  and  a  white-hot  flame  seemed  to  lick  around  the 
edges  of  his  skull  and  then  creep  down  his  spine — 
which  was  not  pleasant.  He  had  times  like  this  when 
he  forgot  what  had  become  of  the  manuscript  Kit  had 
written  for  him,  though  it  was  to  change  his  whole 
life.  In  an  adventurous  moment  he  had  mailed  it  to 
The  Atlantic  Monthly.  The  letter  of  acceptance  which 
had  come  yesterday  would  ordinarily  have  made 
him  wild  with  joy.  Now  nothing  mattered,  except 
that  he  was  tired  and  wanted  Christina,  and  wished  it 
would  not  rain.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  would  give 
a  million  dollars  to  stop  the  uproar  of  the  rain,  but  he 
could  not  call  out  the  offer,  because  iron  fingers  were 
grasping  his  throat  with  a  grip  that  bound  and  choked 
him. 

He  thought  of  the  night  that  they  had  come  home 
from  their  brief  wedding  journey.  How  it  had  rained 
then — like  this!  And  suddenly  he  remembered  the 
drenched  tramp  at  their  back  door.  He  winced,  and 
thought  he  called  out  in  a  loud  tone,  "God  forgive  her !' 
but  he  did  not  even  whisper  it.  His  thoughts  were 
all  shouting  again,  in  that  way  they  had  lately,  in 
mighty,  echoing  voices  that  rose  hysterically  higher 
and  higher.  "God  forgive  her  and  love  her,  forgive 
her  and  love  her,  forever  and  ever,  world  without  end, 
amen !" 

Then,  descending  and  enveloping,  the  comforting 


278  The   Golden  Answer 

sense  that  God  would  forgive  and  love  her,  even  as  he 
did,  brought  such  a  wide,  deep  peace  that  he  drifted 
into  sleep,  for  the  first  time  in  thirty-six  hours.  In 
that  sleep  he  dreamed  that  Christina  came  to  him. 

That  was  not  strange,  for  while  he  slept  she  was 
coming.  In  a  taxicab  speeding  in  the  rain  and  skidding 
through  the  dark,  deserted  streets,  Christina  sat  hold- 
ing a  letter  from  Harmony,  Amos  had  forgotten  to 
forbid  Harmony  to  write.  But  the  letter  had  told 
Christina  nothing  she  did  not  know. 

"There  isn't  any  book  now,"  wrote  Harmony,  "be- 
cause Amos  has  burned  it  all  up.  It  made  the  stove 
smoke  the  night  you  came  for  a  few  minutes.  Isn't  he 
funny,  Christina,  to  burn  it  because  it  was  another 
thing  he  could  not  afford  to  love  ?  He  hasn't  told  me 
what  else  there  is,  did  you  make  him  burn  it  up?  I 
wish  he  would  get  better,  but  he  is  funny  now  two,  he 
makes  us  laff  awful  hard." 

The  outer  door  of  the  house  had  been  left  unlatched. 
Christina  opened  the  door  of  the  top-story  room  she 
had  visited  once,  and  then  shut  it  behind  her  with  a 
little  gasp.  A  faint  night  light  was  burning  on  the 
only  table.  There  was  a  shadowy  figure  on  the  bed. 
Her  heart  beat  wildly.  This — was  Amos!  She  took 
off  her  long  coat  and  her  hat,  bedraggled  in  the  short 
distance  she  had  been  obliged  to  walk,  and  dropped 
them  on  the  floor  before  her  feet.  They  might  have 
belonged,  she  thought  in  a  flash  of  detail,  to  the  woman 
she  had  seen  in  the  empty  shop  in  the  basement,  scrub- 
bing the  floor. 

Christina  took  two  steps  around  the  sodden  heap  of 
clothes  toward  the  man  on  the  cot.  For  a  terrible 
moment  she  thought  he  was  dead,  he  was  so  quiet  and 
white  under  the  blanket  that  was  drawn  up  to  his  chin 
and  pointed  over  his  feet. 


The  Golden  Answer  279 

If  he  were  dead,  she  had  killed  him.  First  the  book, 
and  then  him.  The  burned  book,  living  to  her  since  its 
death  as  never  before,  had  brought  her  back  to  take  her 
punishment — which  would  lie  in  the  state  in  which  she 
found  him.  She  had  never  thought  that  she  might 
come  too  late.  ...  A  burning  anguish  rose  in  Chris- 
tina's soul — the  eternal  epic  anguish  of  Love  and 
Death.  .  .  . 

Then  she  saw  him  breathe.  He  was  sleeping.  With 
thronging  joy  she  stole  near  and  watched  the  blanket 
slightly  rise  and  fall.  It  was  as  gentle  and  calm  a  sleep 
as  a  young  boy's.  As  she  stood  there,  weak  and  cold 
from  her  terror,  she  began  to  tremble  with  an  unknown 
passion  of  protectiveness,  tenderness  new  and  mystify- 
ing and  beautiful,  the  desire  to  defend  him  from  every- 
thing harmful,  and  suffer  in  defending  him. 

He  must  not  be  awakened.  One  thing  she  could  do, 
and  that  was  see  that  no  one  wakened  him.  She  looked 
around  the  room.  The  inner  door  was  shut.  It  was 
Harmony's ;  he  had  told  her,  that  night,  that  Harmony 
slept  in  there. 

She  must  find — someone  else.  For  though  she  was 
his  wife,  whom  he  had  loved  well  once,  who  had  now 
come  back  to  him,  she  did  not  know  whether  she  could 
stay !  She  had  realized  that  when  she  had  begun  her 
journey.  There  might  no  longer  be  a  place  for  her 
here. 

Creeping  out  into  the  hall  she  closed  the  door. 
Suddenly  she  remembered  the  woman  downstairs  in 
the  basement  shop,  and  felt  unreasonably  sure  that  she 
was  the  one — to  be  found !  Christina,  shivering  with 
disgust  at  that  thought,  leaned  against  the  rail  in  the 
dim  gas-flickering  hall,  sick  with  a  drenching  pain  of 
jealousy. 

But  pride  came  welling  back,  and  something  else. 


280  The   Golden  Answer 

She  was  in  the  right  at  last !  Close  as  she  was  to  the 
few  elemental  emotions,  she  could  feel  self-satisfac- 
tion. 

Involuntarily  smoothing  her  hair,  she  decided  to 
confront  the  creature — and  show  her  a  virtuous  wife 
who  could  take  care  of  her  own  husband. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

As  Christina  went  downstairs  through  the  quiet 
house,  past  closed  doors  behind  which,  unknown  to  her, 
Zinnia  and  Truebee  were  dreaming  of  fulfilled  desires, 
her  self-satisfaction  grew.  In  the  lower  hall,  illumi- 
nated by  a  small  tip  of  flame  within  the  red  globe  with 
daisies  in  it,  she  looked  around  to  see  if  there  might  be 
a  way  of  entering  the  shop  without  going  out  again  in 
the  rain,  and  finding  dark  backstairs  descended  into  an 
unknown  cavern.  Already  she  smelled  soap. 

Groping  carefully  she  found  the  handle  of  the  front 
basement  room,  once  the  servants'  dining  room  in  tne 
days  when  Jane  Street  was  in  its  glory.  Christina 
opened  this  door  and  found  herself  in  a  tiny  grocery 
store.  It  smelled  vaguely  of  coffee  and  a  combination 
of  candles,  tea,  spices  and  damp  boards.  The  prevail- 
ing odor  was  of  damp  boards.  One  gas  jet  blew  wildly 
in  a  draught  over  a  sign,  "No  green  things."  Another 
sign  read  baldly :  "No  credit  here." 

Standing  upright  in  the  middle  of  the  place  was  a 
tall  figure  which  the  racing  shadows  enhanced  into 
almost  terrifying  size.  The  woman  who  confronted 
Christina  was  dressed  in  a  clean,  dark  red  calico.  Her 
abundant  black  hair  was  piled  high  on  her  head. 
Christina,  abnormally  quick  now,  did  not  miss  the 
lovely  daring  angle  in  the  posture  of  her  head,  nor  the 
handsome  eyes.  For  the  rest  she  saw  only  premature 
age  and  sordidness.  She  felt  light  and  young  and 
rested  beside  this  woman. 

"Who  are  you?"  Christina's  question  was  involun- 
281 


282  The   Golden   Answer 

fary;  she  had  meant  to  be  superior  in  her  politeness, 
remembering  that  of  the  two  she  was  the  lady. 

"Well — if  you  knew,  what  then?"  countered  the 
strange  woman  calmly. 

"I  might  go  and  never  come  back,"  said  Christina, 
suddenly  sure. 

But  even  as  she  said  this  the  thought  of  Amos  For- 
tune sleeping  upstairs  stabbed  her. 

"Ain't  you  his  wife?"  The  other  woman  seemed 
sure  too. 

"Yes." 

"Then  it's  your  muffl" 

Christina  was  puzzled.  Perhaps,  after  all,  she  was 
crazy!  Breathlessly  she  demanded  again,  ready  for 
flight: 

"You  haven't  told  me.    Who  are  you?" 

Kit  Farley  answered,  the  steadiness  all  on  her  side: 
"I'm  Harmony's  mother." 

Christina  felt  her  body  grow  red  all  over  and  then 
Cold.  Her  face  stiffened  into  a  sneer. 

"You  are  the  'friend'  whose  child  he  was  bringing 
Up!" 

Kit  took  a  step  forward  and  spread  out  her  hands ; 
she  looked  almost  pitying. 

"Well,  can't  you  see,  if  I  am,  and  what  you  think 
is  true,  you  got  to  respect  him  more?  Men  don't 
usually  go  and  get  their  child  born  out  of  wedlock  and 
bring  it  up,  do  they?" 

Christina  did  not  answer,  but  backed  away  from  Kit 
and  leaned  against  a  glass  counter  which  held  cheap 
candy  and  chewing  gum.  This  could  not  be  real,  that 
was  her  chief  sensation ;  such  things  did  not  happen  to 
her. 

"Now  I  got  something  to  tell  you  that  will  be  good 
for  you  to  hear,"  the  other  woman  said  slowly.  "And 


The  Golden  Answer  283 

you  stay  and  get  it  all.  You  ain't  the  staying  kind,  I 
take  it!" 

Christina  knew  that  she  was  being  insulted,  but  it 
did  not  seem  to  matter  much. 

"Harmony's  my  child,  and  I  was  never  married  to 
anybody,  so  you  don't  have  to  respect  me.  But  Fort — 
Mr.  Fortune — you  got  another  guess  coming  about 
him  1" 

She  paused,  and  Christina  lifted  her  hands  up  and 
twisted  them  together. 

"Oh,"  she  breathed. 

"Yes,  'oh',"  said  Kit  harshly;  "but  I'm  beginning  to 
wonder  if  Harmony's  such  a  wicked — thing  to  have 
done!  I  loved  her  father.  ..." 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  whispered  Christina. 

Suddenly  Kit  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 
When  she  raised  her  head,  she  had  controlled  herself; 
she  even  smiled  a  little. 

"We  were  young!    It's  heaven  to  be  young.  .  .  ." 

"Yes." 

"There  were  the  two  Fortunes — there  were  jokes 
about  the  name,  and  who  would  be  Mis'  'Fortune.' 
But  I  wasn't  the  kind,  even  then.  Jokes,  I  said.  Be- 
lieve me,  they  were  a  lively  family.  Ever  hear  the 
yarns  about  the  grandfather?  Well,  I  was  the  devil 
they  were  supposed  to  be  going  to,  see!  At  least, 
Harmon " 

"Harmon ?" 

"He  was — younger.  Good  lord,  how  young!  He 
loved  me.  .  .  .  Yes,  he  loved  me. 

"Well,  Amos  tried  to  get  him  away  from  me.  Oh, 
I  mean  to  save  him — from  me,  you  see?  That  was 
the  first  thing  made  me  think.  But  it  was  too  late, 
then. 

"Because  one  night — oh,  my  God,  I  wisht  I  could 


284  The   Golden   Answer 

forget  it!  Well,  this  is  how  it  was.  It  rained  that 
night.  He'd  been  drinking  and  he  slipped  in  front  of 
a  truck.  All  in  a  minute  it  killed  him.  I  can  see  his 
blood  in  the  rain 

"He  had  a  way  with  him,  you  know — like 
Amos " 

Christina  shivered.  There  was  a  death-like  silence 
in  the  shop.  Then  Kit's  husky,  resonant  voice  took  up 
her  story. 

"Amos — I  always  called  him  Fortie — he  came  to 
see  me  when  he  heard  there  was  a  baby.  Yes,  there 
was,  and  I  didn't  care,  I  was  glad.  I  wasn't  quite  the 
devil  they  thought,  was  I?  Well,  he  came.  When  I 
told  him  it  was  a  girl  I  remember  he  swore.  Then  we 
talked  it  all  over.  And  I  couldn't  be  sure,  and  he 
couldn't,  about  the  future.  But,  it  seemed  to  make 
more  difference — what  /  was!  To  her,  I  mean. 
Things  are  queer  like  that.  I  agreed  he  should  take 
the  baby  away.  .  .  . 

"He  was  very  good.  You  see,  now,  he  had  to  save 
her  from  me.  I  wanted  him  to.  Don't  you  forget  that. 
But  he  told  me  to  let  him  know  when  I  was  ready  to 
start  all  over,  and  he'd  help  me.  I  know  he  thought  it 
was  tough  luck  for  me.  He  never  blames  anyone  very 
much. 

"He  kept  his  word,  though  I  guess  he  had  a  hard 
time.  I  mean — finally  I  was  ready  to  start  all  over. 
So  I  wrote  him." 

Kit  stopped  and  laughed  without  mirth. 

"You  don't  know  what  that  means,  I  guess — starting 
over.  I've  been  used  to  fine  things,  too!  But  I  got 
to  thinking  too  much  about  Harmony,  and  how  big 
she'd  be  by  now.  It  was  Harmony  done  it.  That's 
why  I  don't  think  she's  a  wicked  thing.  Or  maybe  if 
there's  a  God  he's  turned  her  into  a  good  one.  I  don't 


The   Golden   Answer  285 

know.  I  wrote  him,  and  he  sent  me  some  money. 
Fifty  dollars  first,  and  more  later.  So  I  came  to  New 
York,  and  got  work.  It's  not  so  easy  when  you're 
untrained  and  look  years  older  than  you  are,  and  that's 
not  young.  But  I  found  something,  you  see.  ...  I 
wasn't  going  to  even  try  to  speak  to  them  on  the  street. 
Then  I  got  up  a  fine  plan,  but  never  mind  what — it 
came  to  nothing.  I  went  to  his  house,  the  address  he 
sent  the  checks  from,  and  he  was  gone.  Then  I  heard 
a  young  fellah  say  he'd  gone  broke,  and  a  girl  told  me 
he  lived  here.  That  seemed  queer  to  me  and  I  was 
scared  for  Harmony,  because  of  her  father.  And  I 
found  out  what  I  feared  was  true,  because  I  watched 
for  him.  And  I  saw  him  on  the  street  at  night,  drunk 
as  Harmon!" 

Christina  had  covered  her  face  now,  and  Kit  Farley 
eyed  her  strangely. 

"He  didn't  know  me,  he  was  so  taken  up  talking 
about  you.  I  guess  it  was  you.  It  was  somebody  that 
treated  him  like  dirt. 

"I  found  him  sick  and  so  I  stayed.  There  wasn't 
anyone  else.  I  didn't  know  he  was  married." 

Christina  was  silent,  and  Kit's  voice  suddenly 
stopped.  It  seemed  impossible  for  her  to  speak. 
Finally  Kit,  who  had  kept  her  distance,  moved  close  to 
her,  looking  down  at  the  slim  form.  Her  voice,  when 
she  went  on,  sounded  broken: 

"You  said,  when  you  first  come  down  here  to  find 
me,  that  if  I  was  what  you  thought,  you  might  go. 
Well,  I  might  have  lied,  or  I  might  have  just  kept  still, 
and  I  guess  you  would  have  gone.  I  guess  I  got  your 
number.  And  I  could  have  had  my — heaven.  Taking 
care  of  Harmony — why  I've  been  sleeping  in  the  same 
room !"  Her  voice  gave  out  "I'm  a  fool,  all  right, 
because  I  decided  as  soon  as  I  saw  you,  to  give  it  up  I 


286  The  Golden  Answer 

You're  sorry — I  could  see  that  in  spite  of  you  despising 
me — and  he  won't  blame  you  when  you're  sorry.  He 
wants  you — and  I'd  like  to  have  him  get  what  he 
wants.  I'm  not  ungrateful.  He's  brought  up  Har- 
mony— beautiful.  .  .  .  I've  talked  straight  and  hard 
to  you — but  I  can  see  you've  got  sweet  things  in  you. 
He  loves  you,  so  you  must  have.  So,  I  think  it's  better 
for  Harmony  to  have  you  for  a  mother — than  me.  .  .  . 
If  I  go,  will  you  stay?" 

Christina  looked  up  at  Kit,  and  her  last  littleness  fell 
away.  She  was  no  longer  self-satisfied,  but  humble. 
It  was  not  a  sacrifice  for  her  to  stay.  She  felt  un- 
worthy to  take  what  another  woman  wanted,  even 
after  repentance  had  brought  her  back  to  the  place 
where  she  belonged.  For  she  did  belong  here.  If 
Amos — wanted  her — and  Kit  Farley  said  that  he 
wanted  her ! 

The  woman  standing  so  close  seemed  to  her  all  at 
once  pitifully  magnificent.  She  tried  to  speak,  but 
broke  down,  and  found  herself  sobbing  with  Kit's  arms 
around  her.  She  had  not  answered  the  question,  but 
they  both  knew  the  answer. 

Finally,  Christina  was  ready  to  go  out  of  that  dim 
place  that  smelled  of  spices  to  the  upper  room  where 
Amos  lay.  She  went  with  her  new  soul  shining— * 
"Gloriana"  now. 

And  turning  at  the  door  she  said  to  Kit  Farley: 

"You  must  never  go— far !" 

He  lay  where  she  had  left  him,  thin  and  long  under 
the  blanket,  his  head  turned  away.  His  brown  hair 
was  rumpled.  In  his  temple  a  purple  vein  showed  like 
tracery  in  marble  and  there  was  another  one  under  each 
eye.  His  high,  straight  nose  had  sharpened  a  little. 

Christina  knelt  beside  the  narrow  bed  and  put  her 


The   Golden  Answer  287 

arms  around  him.  More  than  anything  else  in  the 
world  she  wanted  to  see  him  smile. 

As  her  arms  encircled  him  he  awoke.  This  was  a 
continuation  of  his  dream.  He  was  still  hearing  his 
thoughts  shout:  "God  forgive  her  and  love  herl" 

"I  have  come  home,"  she  said. 

His  eyes  traveling  over  her,  finally  looked  into  hers. 

"Dearest,"  she  whispered,  "will  you  risk  letting  me 
stay?" 

He  put  his  cheek  to  hers,  and  a  warm  thrill  of  com- 
fort spread  through  his  body,  with  a  heavenly  relief  of 
the  old  strain.  His  thoughts  were  still  shouting.  She 
must  hear  them,  so  he  merely  smiled  at  her  and  closed 
his  eyes  again. 

He  did  not  know  that  he  drowsed  in  her  arms.  When 
he  awoke,  refreshed,  she  was  still  there.  He  said: 

"I  dreamed  about — the  Book.  Isn't  it  funny,  I  can 
do  it  now?  I  couldn't  have  done  it  right  before." 

She  kissed  him ;  her  tears  were  on  his  cheek. 

"Amos — let  me  do  something  hard  for  you !" 

"Would  it  be  too  hard  to  love  me?"  he  asked, 
smiling  again. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

IN  the  early  morning  Amos  Fortune  awoke  to  a 
feeling  of  clarity  and  divine  understanding.  Yellow 
spring  sunlight,  thrilling  and  brilliant  after  the  storm 
in  the  night,  streamed  in  upon  him  through  the  open 
window  and  seemed  miraculously  to  be  the  source  of 
this  feeling.  One  of  those  remarkable  moments  was 
upon  him — when  he  was  threefold  alive,  conscious  of 
things  veiled  usually. 

He  knew  why  he  loved  Christina;  this  was  his  first 
thought  in  the  new  day.  There  would  be,  always, 
times  when  they  would  disappoint  each  other ;  but  this 
he  knew :  Besides  her  April  loveliness  and  the  person- 
ality that  eternally  endeared,  was  the  fact  that  all  the 
time  it  was  in  her  to  grow  into  something  golden. 
With  a  shock  of  joy  he  beheld  the  "incredible  godhead" 
in  her.  And  it  was  shining  like  the  sun. 

It  was  a  great  moment,  one  of  those  "when  eternal 
Beauty  is  seized  traveling  through  time." 

Jane  Street  was  waking.  Carts  rumbled  through 
the  narrow  way,  early  newsboys  called,  a  girl  threw 
open  her  shutters  and  laughed  at  the  sunlight. 

Truebee  Lark  leaned  out  of  his  window  and  peered 
forth  into  the  street  and  up  at  a  round,  white  cloud. 
He  wrinkled  his  forehead,  and  began  his  monotonous 
humming  of  a  tune,  the  words  of  which  were  for- 
gotten. Suddenly  he  started,  looked  mysterious,  held 
up  his  finger  and  began  to  beat  time.  His  face  was 
transfigured.  For  the  words  had  come  back  to  his 
warped  brain — a  soft,  triumphant  chant : 

288 


The   Golden  Answer  289 

"  'A  thousand  ages  in  Thy  sight'  "  sang  Truebee, 
"  'Are  as  an  evening  gone. 

Short   as   the   watch   that  ends   the   night 

Before  the  rising  sun.' ' 

A  milk  wagon  clattered  through  the  street,  and 
when  its  echo  had  vanished,  from  the  river  mistiness, 
not  "burned  off"  yet,  came  the  sound  of  silver  notes  in 
nonchalant  musical  pairs.  A  matter  of  business,  this 
time  aboard  ship. 

"Ding-ding — ding-ding." 

And  far  down  the  river,  fainter  and  deeper,  from  a 
distant  traveler. 

"Dong-dong ;  dong-dong." 

"Four  bells — that's  six  in  the  morning  watch,"  said 
Truebee,  quietly.  "Zinnia,"  he  added,  turning  to  his 
sister,  "I  can  tell  tune  without  a  clock  1" 


Pntttd  in  th*  Unittd  Stain  of  Amtriea 


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000,27055 


